Clockwork
by duckponds
Summary: As told by the Oracle of Delphi, Elliott Paton, son of Hephaestus, and Winifred Harbourne, daughter of Ares, will fight in the battle to save all of time and space, searching all over the world for a mysterious weapon forged by a traitor.
1. Chapter 1

an: to all of the stray readers here, be warned that this is an unedited first draft i am writing for camp nanowrimo. large portions have been written under sleep deprivation and it will be awkwardly wordy in places in cheap attempts to boost my word count. it is far from perfect, and i openly accept critique, but don't take this too seriously. i have also tweaked riordan's mythology the tiniest bit, as his representation of kronos was not entirely accurate, although this won't be obvious until later chapters. this is meant in no disrespect to him. xx

* * *

><p>On the outside, there was nothing particularly special about Elliott K. Paton. At the age of fifteen, he was almost outlandishly tall, and he moved as if he hadn't gotten quite used to the length of his limbs. His light brown hair was in a constant state of disarray, and much to his mother's chagrin he always seemed to be in desperate need of a haircut. His hands were already worn from working on his family's cattle farm in the Weald in Sussex, and his face held a constant expression that was achingly earnest. He was naïve, which was plain to see in his big, curious eyes and innocent smile. Even almost into adulthood, he was still like a child – clever, curious about everything around him, and a little bit mischievous, although not enough to trouble his hard-working parents.<p>

But underneath all of that simplicity, there was something very special about Elliott Paton. He was clever, this was true, but he was much more clever than a boy his age should have been. He had a way with metal and machinery, and he could build fantastic things from next to nothing. He had a gift that even he didn't understand or know about, a gift that had been given to him from a god.

The only person in the world who was aware of this gift was his mother, who was doing everything in her power to keep the boy safe. Elizabeth Paton was, if anything, the best mother a child in his state could have hoped for. She was a small, strong woman with eyes just as bright as Elliott's, a woman who spent her entire life in the rolling hills of the Greensand Ridge. She was of little intelligence in the way of books, and often the things her son told her went right over her head, but she loved him fiercely with all of her might. She kept him close to her, but she never coddled him. If he fell or hurt himself (which happened quite often), Elizabeth would help him up and give him a kiss, and maybe a bit of chocolate if he was bleeding, and then she would tell him he wasn't allowed to cry for long. She raised him to be good; she raised him to be strong.

Elliott's father loved him with the same fiery passion, even though he was unaware of the truth of his gift. Gregory Paton had grown up on the farm Elliott was raised on, claiming ownership when his parents passed. He was a quiet man, and he normally the noise and music and play to his wife. Even if he knew the truth of his son's parentage, he would still love him just as much. He would do his damndest, just as Elizabeth had done, to keep him safe from the evil lurking in the shadows.

They were a happy little family, living a quiet little life with their cows and chickens. Elliott's parents indulged in his strange hobbies the best they could, but it didn't particularly matter what things they couldn't afford – he could fix a broken tractor within minutes, or build a working automaton of a little bird to flutter around his mother's dressing table. They started keeping scraps of metal for him to tinker with in the barn, and one weekend they took him to meet an actual blacksmith. He was happy with the little he had been given.

Little did any of them know, however, there were people looking for Elliott. There were good people out there, but there were also monsters lurking in the dark, their teeth and claws ready to tear into him before the prophecy could complete itself. The camp had already salvaged the first half, and the monsters from below refused to lose the second half as well. Without it, the prophecy would never become complete and their plan would follow through. They all searched for the proof of his existence, good and evil fighting to get to him.

The monsters found him first.

* * *

><p>The day that would change everything started like any other day. Elliott woke up at an ungodly hour to do his chores, helping his mother with breakfast and his father with the animals. After both he and the chickens were fed, he wasted a little bit more time before school started in the barn, fiddling with some of the broken farm equipment that was lying around. Though as much as he would have liked to, he couldn't spend all of his time in the barn on his own, and so he collected his things and left for school. If he would have known what was going to happen only a few hours later, he might have clung to his mother like he used to, begging her to allow him to stay home. But that would have been childish, so he said his goodbyes and set off on the familiar walk that he had been taking all of his life.<p>

Elliott liked being alone and he never thought twice about walking through a bit of woods along the backside of the barn to get to school faster, but there was something unsettling about that walk today. He felt the little hairs on the back of his neck prickle in anticipation, as if there was someone right behind him – it was like he was being followed, or watched. The further he got away from his home, the worse the feeling became, a feeling of cold dread creeping up the back of his spine. He sped up, clutching the straps of his backpack tighter until his knuckled turned white and he could feel his nails digging into his palms.

He hoped that the feeling would go away once he was in the safe confines of his little school, but it only got worse and Elliott found it harder than normal to concentrate on his schoolwork. It was never out of the ordinary for him to have a little bit of a problem focusing or sitting still, and sometimes the words in his textbooks swam off of the pages, but this was different than normal. He just couldn't shake that bit of fear that had been steadily forming in the back of his mind since he left home. He wanted to be somewhere quite, where he could be safe and alone until he knew that the danger had passed – whatever that danger was. He wanted to be back in his barn, curled up in the loft with his trinkets. He wanted home

So he decided to skip the rest of the day.

He had never skipped school before, but it was an easy decision to make once the thought entered his thoughts. So while the rest of his classmates were filing out for lunch, he snuck around the back of the school to cut through the woods to get back home. It was surprisingly easy, and he wondered why he hadn't thought of skiving off before now. He darted into the cover of the trees before anyone noticed him, and he hurried down the familiar path to the safety of his loft. Time seemed to inch by, and he kept thinking to himself that any moment now he would be home. He realized, rather belatedly, that he was lost.

Being lost was a strange feeling for Elliott, who often wandered off on his own into the woods when he got tired of the confinement of his house. He liked the quiet of the trees and the little animals that bounded about in the branches. He liked the solitude. But there was no denying it – he was lost in the woods that he had thought had been so familiar to him. Trying not to panic he tried to tell himself that he must have turned off of the path too soon without thinking about it, and… why did he hear hissing?

He froze on the spot, turning around to try to find the source of the eerie noise. It was too cold for snakes, wasn't it? A little squirrel stared down at him from one of the trees, there was a rustle in the brush that spooked it, and it fled higher up into the branched.

"Shouldn't you be at school, child?"

Elliott turned quickly at the sound of the voice, nearly tripping over his own feet. There was a woman standing away from him a few feet away, watching him with her head tilted curiously. She was beautiful, tall and thin, wearing a long green skirt that covered her feet and trailed behind her. She had a heavy fur jacket wrapped tightly around her thin frame, and her golden hair billowed around her face as if it was made of air. He immediately noticed her eyes – big and green – and he instinctively took a step back from her. He could still hear hissing.

"It's dangerous to be out here alone," the woman went on, still smiling sweetly at him. "You really should have stayed amongst the mortals." She made a clicking sound with her tongue, as if she was chastising him.

"Mortals?" Elliott managed, somehow finding his voice. He tried not to notice how nervous he sounded and straightened, telling himself to be brave.

The woman tilted her head, her eyes still unblinking. Why wasn't she blinking? Elliott found it hard to look away from her face, but all he wanted to do was turn and run. There was something in her expression that he didn't quite like, something… hungry. "It's a shame, such a handsome child," the woman mused, moving close to him. She moved strangely, although Elliott found it hard to think about that. He couldn't move, he couldn't look away from that hauntingly beautiful face of hers as she inched closer to him. Soon, her hand was reaching out to him, her skin pale and—

Scaly?

"Child of Hephaestus, duck!" came the shrill voice of a young girl.

Something inside of Elliott woke up at the urgency in the girl's voice, and he awkwardly tumbled to the ground as one of the larger trees behind him creaked and groaned, its heaviest limb swinging forward to knock the woman back away from him. He looked up as she slid across the forest ground, her skirt rippling around her legs, and his face blanched. Instead of two, normal, human legs, the woman seemed to have one long trunk, scaly and green – like a snake. He scrambled backwards until his back hit the nearest tree, and he looked up to see a young girl standing beside him. Her appearance was just as strange as the woman's; she seemed to be wearing a dress made of bark, her hair was a golden green (like the leaves, Elliott thought dumbly), and where her skin should have been flushed, it was tinted a bright green.

"Lamia, leave my forest!" the girl screamed, and with a slight ripple in the air she disappeared, and the tree let out another threatening groan as it lurched forward to give the snake-woman – Lamia – another violent shove.

Lamia let out a loud, screeching hiss as she was thrown backwards again, just as she had been trying to regain her balance. She seemed to have his her head on something, and Elliott noticed her blood was black and unnaturally thick. The girl in the bark dress reappeared, and she tugged Elliott to his feet. "Run!" she said quickly, giving him a little shove that almost sent him back to the ground. "I will keep her back, the forest is with you! Find the satyr!"

Although nothing she was saying or anything that was happening was making much sense, she didn't have to tell him twice. Elliott bolted off in the opposite direction just as Lamia managed to upright herself, and there was another creak of the tree and more screaming. He didn't look back; he just ran.

He wasn't sure how long he ran, weaving in and out of the trees as fast as his legs would carry him, but Elliott came to a screeching halt at a little stream. He was sweating and shaking, and he fell to his knees to splash water on his face. What was going on? He couldn't find his bearings, he just kept thinking about all of the strange things that the girl in the bark had said – Child of Hephastus. His heart pounded in his ears and he tried to think of why that name sounded so familiar. And Lamia? The fairy tale? He splashed more water on his face, jumping backwards when he realized there was a girl on the opposite side of the creek, watching him. She couldn't have been older than him, maybe thirteen or fourteen, and was dressed in a light blue dress with a matching cardigan.

"So it is true," was all she said, gazing at him with big, big eyes. She stepped into the water toward him, grouching down so that their eyes were level. She studied him closely, as if she was trying to decide if he was actually real or not. "Drink from my water, clean yourself, but you should find the satyr," she finally went on, a little bit sternly. "He is close!" And then she was gone, dissolving into the water, leaving Elliott alone in the mud.

"The satyr?" he repeated to himself, looking around nervously. Elliott climbed to his feet and then ran off, heading back toward his home. His thoughts were racing, thinking of fairy tales and girls that lived in trees and water and satyrs and Hephaestus. He skidded to a stop when he remembered where he had heard that name.

But that couldn't be right.

This wasn't real.

Shaking his head, he started for his house again, praying that his parents were safe. He came around the back of the barn, but was forced to come to another quick stop when a boy came from the open back door of the barn. They nearly collided into each other, and it took a moment for Elliott to regain his footing. He opened his mouth to yell at the boy, but that was when he realized instead of human legs, he had the legs of a goat. And on the top of his head, among a mess of curly dark hair, two little horns peeked out. The satyr.

No.

"Come with me-ee-ee!" he bleated, his accent Irish, reaching for Elliott's arm. He tugged him away just as a giant smashed though the back of the barn. He raised a heavy club above his head and growled at him, and Elliott's heart nearly stopped.

"Wait!" he cried to the satyr, trying desperately to keep up. "What's going on? My parents—" He let out a choked noise, unable to think about what could have possibly happened to them. "Stop!" he begged, tears stinging in his eyes, fighting against the satyr as the giant stomped after them.

But the other boy, creature, thing couldn't seem to hear him, and they darted back into the cover of the woods. "We need to get you to camp!" he exclaimed, impossibly vague as the other strangers he had met in the past hour or so had been. Following that was a string of angry words that could have only been cursing in another language. For some reason, in the back of his mind Elliott decided it was Greek.

He refused to listen to him, though, and instead he kept desperately trying to pull his arm away. In a single moment the satyr stumbled over a stone, lost his grip on him, and Elliott fell backwards toward the ground. There was pain, a flash of red, and then everything went dark.


	2. Chapter 2

Elliott woke up feeling cold and sore, lying on hard ground. His head was throbbing and he could hear quiet voices talking around him, but he refused to open his eyes quite yet. Quite honestly, he was very afraid of what he might find once he opened his eyes. He hadn't forgotten anything – everything that had happened still floated around in his head in a fog that he just couldn't sort out. Someone let out a bleating little laugh and his heart sunk. No human would laugh like that; it sounded more like a goat.

Finally he opened his eyes with a little groan, and his vision couldn't seem to focus. Elliott idly wondered if his contacts had fallen out, though he knew that that was the least of his worries now. He didn't sit up right away, and instead he just stared up at the dreary grey above him. It took him a moment to realize that he must have been in a cave, everything was a little bit wet and somewhere there was water dripping to the ground in a steady beat. The only light around them seemed to be coming from a crudely built fire that seemed to be dying; it wasn't doing anything to help the chill. Beside the fire was the satyr, who seemed to be a little bit distracted with a large map. Aside from the legs and horns, he seemed almost normal. He was pale and had a bit of an acne problem and a tiny overbite. He wore a black shirt with something written across the chest that Elliott couldn't quite make out.

Somehow, seeing someone who could have gone to his school was not reassuring in the least.

Just as that thought crossed his mind, the satyr seemed to notice that he was conscious, and he grinned in (what appeared to be) relief. "Thank the gods," he breathed, a hand coming up to his forehead. "You know, that was the first time I had to give someone nectar for an injury that wasn't inflicted by an enemy." Now he just felt amused, and now Elliott was annoyed.

With another uncomfortable groan, he managed to push himself up. A wave of dizziness rushed through him and he froze, waiting for the world to stop spinning. He managed to regain some of his composure, and he turned his attention back to the satyr. "What's… What's going on?" he finally spat out. His voice sounded muddy in his ears, and set off a painful ringing sound that he was certain only he could hear. "Where am I? Who are you people?"

The satyr gave him a look that almost seemed a little bit sympathetic. "I'm sorry we've been so rude, normally we try to handle these situations a little more… delicately," he said slowly, carefully. But Elliott was feeling impatient. The longer he was awake, the angrier he got. None of this was making any sense, and he had no idea where his parents were. And this goat thing was keeping him hidden away in a cave somewhere? He wanted him to answer all of his questions now, right away, before he lost his mind. He was already feeling like he had gone mad – maybe all of that clumsiness was finally taking its toll on him.

"Let's start over," the satyr was saying, awkwardly pleasant. "I'm Seamus. I'm going to take you to Camp Half-Blood."

"Camp _What_?" Elliott interrupted, irritated and glaring at Seamus the Satyr. What in the world was going on?

"Right, right," Seamus muttered nervously to himself, wringing his shirt in his hands. "I've got to ease you in, of course. This is a lot of information to take in all at once, and your parents—"

But he stopped himself short and Elliott suddenly felt sick. His parents. Something had happened to them, just like he had suspected. "Where are they?" he asked flatly, refusing to let his voice tremble. "What happened to my mum and dad? What did you do to them?" He wasn't aware of his voice rising, all he could focus on was the anger and fear and hurt.

Seamus looked away from him, now chewing nervously on his shirtsleeve. "I'm sorry… The giant took me by surprise. I'm only a satyr. He tried to eat me! I did my be-ee-st," he bleated, his words coming out fast. He still refused to look at Elliott, and instead focused all of his attention on what was, apparently, a very interesting pebble.

He didn't go on, but he didn't need to. And Elliott didn't want to hear what had happened to them, not now at least. He didn't want any of this to be happening at all. Honestly, he wasn't quite convinced that this wasn't just a very elaborate dream. There was no such thing as giants or satyrs or snake-women. He shut his eyes tightly, covering his face with his hands as if he was trying to make all of this disappear. He dug the balls of his hands into his eyes until he saw stars, trying to ignore the crackling fire and Seamus' nervous chewing.

But when he opened his eyes, the satyr was still sitting across from him, still looking at him with those sad eyes. "No," he said his voice breaking, climbing to his feet clumsily. "_No_."

"Elliott," Seamus started warily, but he didn't wait to hear what he had to say. He just snatched up his backpack and headed for the mouth of a cave. There were a couple of girls loitering outside of the cave, girls that looked suspiciously like the girl in the bark dress from earlier. They scattered as he stormed out angrily, ignoring Seamus' desperate calls for him to come back. He didn't want to listen to anything else that goat had to tell him. He was going home.

* * *

><p>He wasn't sure how long he had been knocked out (because of his own clumsiness – something he couldn't stop thinking about), but he quickly realized that the sun had nearly set. The twilight cast strange glows among the trees, shadows falling across the ground. Elliott wandered for a while, rubbing his eyes and constantly tugging his jacket tighter across himself, trying to stay warm. That pathetic fire the satyr had built hadn't been much, but it was better than the fall chill that practically knocked the air out of him. He wasn't sure where he was going, but he just knew that he needed to get away from that cave. He couldn't look at someone with goat legs and take him seriously.<p>

So he just walked, his thought racing. Eventually he came up to a stream, where an all too familiar girl sat brushing her hair. She saw him and smiled, straightening. "Hero, you've returned," she said happily. "Please sit with me, you look troubled."

At first, Elliott wasn't sure what to do. But his body still ached and he couldn't hear Seamus calling for him anymore, so maybe sitting wasn't a terrible idea. Plus, the company of a cute girl was much better than that of a goat-boy. Hesitantly he stepped toward the stream, settling nervously on the ground beside her. She watched him expectantly, although all he could do was look at her rather cluelessly. "Drink," she prompted. "Wash." Instantly this seemed like the obvious choice, and Elliott splashed water on his face to hide his blush. After drinking several handfuls, he turned back to the girl, who had resumed brushing her hair.

"Do you know me?" he blurted out, a little bit frantically. So far, everyone he met today seemed to know who he was. Did she too?

The girl laughed and shook her head. "No, but I've heard of you," she answered. Elliott noticed her voice sounded like the bubbling of the stream. "You're not what I expected. Not after what I heard my sisters say. They were _there_." She stressed the last word as if it was important, as if he should have known exactly what she was talking about. But his expression was still confused, and she laughed again as if she found him greatly amusing. "The day you were claimed."

Once more, Elliott found himself unsure of what to say. Sure, these people talked a lot, but they really didn't say much – and he found it highly frustrating. Couldn't anyone else tell that this was insane? "Claimed?" he finally managed, his voice nearly a whisper.

"Yes, by your father," the girl went on, leaning toward him, her eyes going wide. "They say he was even there." She tilted her head, neatly tucking her hair behind her ear. "You must be important."

"What do you mean? My father has always been around," Elliott answered firmly, feeling the sudden need to jump to his family's defense.

Her smile went a little bit sad and she sat back, absently braiding her hair. "No," she said softly, shaking her head. "He has not. At least your proper father hasn't." Suddenly, Elliott was furious again. These people had no idea what they were talking about. But the girl seemed to notice him bristle in anger, and she held up her hands in defense. "Listen, that mortal was your father, yes – he loved you and cared for you, I know. But he is not your blood. Your blood comes from the gods."

Child of Hephaestus.

"Hephaestus," he murmured to himself, and the girl's smile was sunny once more.

"Yes! So you aren't as slow as my sister in the duck pond says," she said, pleased. "The satyr should have told you," she went on seriously, before he could properly think of what she said. "You are special."

None of this information seemed to process very quickly, and he thought of what Seamus had said after he had woken up – this _was_ a lot of information to take in at once. Elliott clambered to his feet wordlessly, adjusting his bag on his shoulders and glancing around. "I have to go," he said quietly, and then he turned to step through the stream. Unlike Seamus, the girl didn't try to stop him, and everything was quiet as he slowly made his way back home.

With all of his might, Elliott wanted to be able to not believe any of this. Things had been fine how they were. He liked it when things were quiet and always the same and nothing strange or dangerous happened to his family. Before he knew it he was crying silently, lamenting what was quite possibly the loss of his parents, and he began to roughly rub the tears away. If there was one thing he knew, he knew that his mother would not want him to cry. She would tell him to be strong.

But somehow that didn't quite make him feel better, and he continued to sniffle quietly to himself the rest of the way to the barn. Occasionally he thought he saw the flit of a little figure, a girl, but no one came to speak with him – and he was grateful. He could hardly think straight, let alone form coherent sentences. He just kept telling himself to wake up, that it was very important that he wake up this very second.

Then he saw the back of the barn, and faltered. The giant had torn nearly half of the back wall off when he stormed out, and the corner sagged dangerously low. Elliott had no doubt that one good, windy storm would cause the whole thing to collapse. Then his thoughts were back on the beast that had caused the damage, and he wondered if it was still around. Everything was quiet; the only sound was the gentle breeze in the wind and the whisper of insects. Well, where would a giant hide around here, anyway?

Cautiously, Elliott stepped away from the trees and toward the barn. He skirted around the edge, not daring to go too close, and peered inside the gaping hole. Inside was empty and dark, hay and machinery tossed around. He could see straight through to the other side, where the barn doors had been torn off. Gulping, he willed himself to look away, and he darted around the pigpen (that was empty) and overturned chicken coop, making a beeline for the house. From the direction of he was coming from he couldn't see any signs of damage, but the sight of the barn hadn't been very reassuring.

He slowed down as he neared, just in case the giant was hidden on the other side of the house. Elliott made his way to the front porch as quietly as he could, his heart pounding. It had gotten dark quickly, and without his glasses or contacts it was nearly impossible for him to see. Hopping over the creaky step, he made his way to the front door and carefully worked the sticky handle to get it to open without making too much noise. He couldn't remember ever having to be this silent, and he found it almost unbearable.

The inside of the house was just as quiet as the outside, and he made his way through the foyer and sitting room, peering around each corner nervously. But it was glaringly obvious that the house was empty, and it had probably been empty for several hours. Elliott climbed the stairs to his bedroom, holding his breath and reminding himself to skip the noisy steps. The second floor was just as empty, but he checked the bathroom and his parents' room just in case. His room was at the end of the hall, and he didn't exhale until he was locked behind the door.

For a short moment he soaked up the normalcy of his bedroom. The slanting ceilings, the bed that was too short for him shoved into the corner, covered in mismatched sheets and blankets. Books and sketchbooks spilled off of his desk, and somewhere in that mess was his laptop. His bookshelves. His action figures. His model of the solar system. Elliott's heart began to ache as he realized that he couldn't stay here. If what the girl at the stream had said was true, other monsters could find him here. He was going to have to leave.

He made his way to his bedside table first, fishing out his glasses from the drawer and dropping his bag onto his bed. He might have to leave, but he wasn't going to leave without bringing a few things with him. So Elliott set to the task of picking out a couple of books and other essentials to take with him. He emptied all of his school books and tossed them aside – he had a feeling he wasn't going to need them. He found his laptop and newest notebook, which he packed away in his bag instead, along with a torch and fresh batteries, a couple of his favorite books, and all of his favorite tools. With all of that shoved into his bag, he only had room for one change of clothes and a thin blanket. As a second thought, he grabbed his heavier tweed jacket that had been a gift from his mother.

Touching the fabric affectionately, he slipped into the worn coat. Looking down he saw that his sneakers were completely ruined, and he dug out a pair of old, black work boots from the back of his closet. He kicked of his shoes hastily and pulled on the boots, grateful that they still fit him. Underneath his bed was a coffee tin filled with all of the money he had, and he shoved the notes into his wallet. Several coins clattered at the bottom of the tin, and he unceremoniously dumped them into one of his backpack's smaller pockets.

After one final glance around the room Elliott knew that he had everything he needed (and had the strength to take), and he finally ventured out of his room to search the rest of the house. He still took care on the steps, but he was starting to feel a little bit more confident. He didn't think he even had the strength to feel upset about this anymore; he just had to keep moving.

As he poked through the rooms of his home, he forced himself to forgot about the idea that this couldn't be happening. Without much thought, he decided that even if he was dreaming, he was just going to have to carry on. Eventually he would wake up. He had his moment to panic, but now he just needed to think, and he wouldn't be able to think if he didn't focus on the problem at hand. He thought a bit sadly that he didn't want to disappoint his mother if she was somewhere watching him this very moment. He wouldn't cry, he would act like an adult and figure _something_ out.

Elliott nervously straightened his jacket as he moved slowly to the back porch. The curtains had been pulled shut, and he was about to pull them back to peer outside when he saw his father's knife on the table beside one of the cushy sofas. He dropped his hand away from the curtains and stared at it for a moment before reaching forward to pick it up. It was heavy in his hand, and with an awkward flick of his wrist he flipped the blade out. His father had never let him touch his knife, and he _never_ left the house without it tucked away in his pocket. Straightening, he snapped the blade shut and dropped it into one of the interior pockets in his jacket.

With a whole new sense of fear settling heavily in his heart, Elliott reached for the curtain again, his fingers slowly pulling back the heavy fabric. The yard behind the house stretched back to another heavy patch of woods, completely empty. He was about to step back from the glass door when someone grasped onto his wrist. "I knew you'd be here."

He turned as quickly as he could at the familiar accent, yanking his hand away from the satyr. Feeling speechless, he just gaped at the other boy as he shuffled about and tugged on his shirt. "_Why_?" he pleaded, his hand instinctively going for his jacket pocket.

Seamus just gave him another apologetic smile, a look that Elliott was really starting to hate. "Well, because," he answered quietly, as if he knew that wasn't the right answer. "I can explain it all, but you need to come with me. The monsters will just keep coming, they _will_ find you. I need to keep you safe."

Elliott didn't respond right away, but his hand fell away from his pocket. The weight of the pocketknife was still pressed against his chest. He opened his mouth, but a metal fluttering behind him suddenly distracted him. Immediately he stepped back toward the sliding door, looking through the curtains. A small, almost crushed metal bird scratched against the glass, rapidly shedding its feathers. His mother's bird. Ignoring Seamus' quiet protests, he flipped the latch on the door and quietly slid it open. He glanced around outside as the almost broken thing managed to hobble into the room. And then he slid the door shut and crouched down to pick up the automaton, flipping it on its back in his palm so he could shut it down. When he looked up, Seamus had a look of disbelief on his face. "What?" Elliott snapped, straightening, tucking the poor little thing into his pocket.

"Nothing. Come on. We need to hurry."


	3. Chapter 3

They went south. Elliott wasn't sure where exactly south they were going, but Seamus seemed to have some sort of a plan. Then again, the satyr didn't seem to be the most organized person on earth, so he wasn't sure how well he trusted him yet. They didn't very travel far that first night, and the walk was tensely silent as they picked their way through the trees. Seamus seemed set on taking the long way around the village, which Elliott supposed was a smart enough idea if they were trying to avoid people, but why couldn't they just check in at the inn for the night? Surely he had enough money for one night, but the satyr didn't seem interested.

After a while they came to another trickling stream, and Elliott knew that they would be entering the Greensand Ridge soon. His heart ached for his mother. But apparently this was where they were going to stop for the night because Seamus was poking around in the brush for dry sticks for a fire. Elliott pulled off his backpack and set it gingerly on the ground beside him. For a moment he watched the other boy tut about the foliage, and then he decided if he wanted a decent fire he was going to have to make it himself.

Wordlessly he moved farther into the brush, looking for fallen sticks that would be good enough for something warm. It was a little bit calming, rummaging around for firewood, but Elliott still found it nearly impossible to focus his thoughts. When he made it back to their little clearing, Seamus was still cursing in Greek and looking through the bushes. Silently, he settled onto the ground and dug out a little hole in the dirt with his hands. As he was filling the hole with kindling, Seamus noticed what he was doing and slowly walked over to sit across from him.

He built the fire quickly and skillfully, his hands striking a spark with the flint from his bag almost immediately. The satyr watched patiently, quietly, as he called the fire to life. The kindling crackled, a thin stream of smoked snaked upward, and then the firewood caught. Within moments the flames were practically roaring, darting up into the sky, the wood popping and cracking.

"You have a gift," Seamus said, his voice kind.

Elliott raised his eyes from the fire to look at him, his expression blank. "I was raised on a farm," he countered lightly, prodding at the flame with a stick.

For some reason, this made Seamus smile. "No, the bird," he explained. "The automaton. Not just anyone could make something like that."

"Plenty of people make things like that," Elliott argued, although he couldn't find the strength to sound upset. "There's a whole field based around it. It's call robotics."

Seamus let out a sigh that sounded more than a little bit exasperated. For some reason, this pleased Elliott. "No," he insisted, shaking his head. For a few more seconds he was quiet, as if he couldn't find the right words. "It's not just intelligence, it's… your _instinct_." His voice was earnest, nearly pleading for him to just trust what he was saying.

Elliott just stared at the satyr for a moment longer, and then he was tugging his blanket out of his bag. "Whatever. I'm going to sleep," he huffed, not caring that it was probably a very childish response. He didn't want to listen right now, he just wanted to curl up and pout, and hopefully fall asleep despite the chill and lingering fear. He turned so that his back was to the fire (and the satyr), and awkwardly pulled the meager blanket over his shoulder. His feet peeked out from the end.

But Elliott didn't sleep – he couldn't sleep. Instead, he just stared into the dark, his brain refusing to stop thinking. He thought about what the girl at the creek had told him, how his father wasn't really his father. He thought about the woman he had met in the woods and how she had the body of a snake. Every few minutes Seamus would make a noise and then Elliott thought of _him_ – the satyr. None of this could be real. These were all things from stories, things that just couldn't exist in a sane, _proper_ world.

Insects buzzed around them, and every single noise in the brush caused Elliott's heart to thump a little harder in his chest. Eventually, Seamus seemed to doze off, and he could hear his quiet snoring over the sound of the fire. He still didn't sleep. He just stayed as still as he could, wide awake, and listening to everything around them. He was always aware of the pocketknife in his jacket pocket, pressed against his chest.

Time passed strangely while he lay there thinking; things seemed to go by slower than usual – the noises were all drawn out, the creature rustling in the bushes never showing itself – but before he knew it the sun was rising. A pink light pushed itself through the trees, slowly but deliberately. Elliott was suddenly aware of how tired he really was, how his eyes begged to be shut and his body creaked and groaned as he sat up. The fire had all but died in the past few hours, and he prodded sleepily at the pile of embers. Seamus was still asleep – then again, the sun hadn't risen that much.

He took the time to gather more firewood, although he supposed they probably wouldn't be sticking around for much longer. He could at least make something hot to drink before they left. His stomach growled, reminding Elliott that he hadn't eaten since breakfast the day before, and he tried not to be too angry with himself for not grabbing some biscuits or apples to munch on. As he made his way back to their pathetic little makeshift camp, he hoped that Seamus had a little bit of something he could eat in the bag he carried at his side, but he tried not to hope too much.

When he got back to the smoldering fire, Elliott sat in front of it and found more scrap paper in the bottom of his backpack to use for kindling. While the satyr snored away, he quietly rebuilt the fire. He had thought an awful lot the night before, but that didn't make his head any more sorted. He still had nothing but anger and fear and confusion. And he _certainly_ didn't want to hear anymore about how he was special and following his instincts – or that he had the blood of a god in him, for that matter. It was too ridiculous.

More of the sky began to lighten with an orange glow and Seamus stirred a little bit against the tree he was sleeping against. Elliott didn't pay any attention to him, though, he was too busy digging in one of the small pockets on his backpack for the stray packet of tea that he _knew_ was in there somewhere. Sometimes he would use his backpack for camping or spending the night in the barn, and he was always leaving packets of hot cocoa or teabags in the pockets. Sure enough he found a sad looking packet of English breakfast, which he set aside while he looked for the small iron kettle that he had grabbed from under his bed before leaving the house. It looked like he was going to have to settle with drinking water from the stream.

By the time he filled the kettle and was on his way back to the fire, Seamus was stretching and yawning, apparently awake now. He blinked blearily at the fire and turned to watch Elliott as he set the kettle in a pile of embers. "Oh, good morning," he croaked, rubbing his eyes. He studied him for a moment longer, and then frowned. "Did you sleep?"

Elliott looked up at him, his eyes once more feeling tired. "No," he answered, only honest because he couldn't think of anything better to say. He had to have been up for twenty-four hours at this point, he was sure that it was fairly obvious. Then he just got back to his tea, tearing the packet open with his teeth and dropping the teabag into the little tin cup that came with the kettle. Seamus remained silent, but he could still feel him watching him carefully, like he was waiting for the right moment to speak up. Or… He was waiting for him to speak up.

"What I don't get is," Elliott finally started, using the end of a pen to fish the teabag out of the cup and tossed it into the fire, "why _me_?"

Seamus smiled, looking a little bit pleased that Elliott was finally allowing him to talk. "Well, not really _you_, mate," he answered lightly, fishing through his bag. "You're just… the product."

It seemed to take a bit too long for Elliott to understand what he was talking about. But then he remembered that the girl at the stream had told him that his real father was a god. So that would mean… "My mum—"

"Right," Seamus answered with a nod, and then he was tossing Elliott a granola bar. "In some way he… Well, he must have loved your mother. And, you know." He shrugged awkwardly before taking a bite out of his own granola bar – before unwrapping it. "And then you were born. You blood is special, Elliott, you're a demi-god. A hero."

Elliott let out a disbelieving snort at that last statement, and then took a sip of tea. "I live on a farm, I like math, I'm _fifteen_. I am not a hero," he answered defiantly, jutting his chin out a bit. His stomach grumbled again and he reached for the granola bar. "Hypothetically if I were, though, what now?" He didn't look at Seamus as he asked this; instead he focused all of his attention on peeling back the wrapper on the granola bar.

"Now you go to camp," he answered promptly. "Camp Half-Blood. It's a camp for children like you, demi-gods. You train, you learn how to use the gifts you've been given from the gods. Plus there's… There's something else."

At that remark, Elliott finally looked up at him. There was something in Seamus' tone that worried him, and he wasn't sure if he wanted to know what this something else was, and for a brief moment he considered telling the satyr to stop talking. He finished chewing the bite he had taken and washed it down with a gulp of tea. "What?" he finally asked, clearly hesitant.

Seamus looked nervous, like he wasn't particularly keen on talking about it either, which didn't do much to quell Elliott's concern. "We don't need to talk about it now," he insisted. "What's most important is getting back to camp in one piece."

Elliott knew that he meant that literally.

"Okay, fine. My parents are gone, and things have been really weird… I guess I'll bite," he grumbled in return before finishing off the granola bar. If Seamus was telling the truth (and Elliott was inclined to believe him – he hadn't tried to kill him), then that would be the best place for him to go. He could learn how to defend himself and then he would leave and find his parents. "Where is this camp?"

Once more, Seamus looked nervous. "Upstate New York," he answered, the pitch in his voice rising slightly at the end so that it almost sounded like he was asking a question.

"_America_?" Elliott exclaimed, frowning. "And how do you propose we get there, exactly?" He didn't mean to sound rude, but it seemed just like another impossible thing in his stack of impossible things. He had money, but maybe only enough for a couple of train tickets, and how were they supposed to get a satyr on a plane anyway?

"I have some ideas," Seamus answered firmly, with just as much defiance. "We just need to get you out of here. Now that they found you…" He trailed off and shuttered a little bit. "We just need to get you out of here.

There wasn't anything Elliott could really say to argue with that; he didn't want to stick around to see what _they_ would do if they were able to catch up with them. So he finished off his tea, they doused the fire, and then they continued walking.

* * *

><p>While they walked, Seamus slowly filled in some of the confusing details. He told him that the gods and all of the stories about them had been true, and they continued to visit mortals on earth. And some of those gods would fall in love with mortals, at least long enough to have children. Camp Half-Blood was the place for those children. "Most campers are only there during the summer," he said while they were stopped so that he could pull on a pair of jeans and fasten sneakers on his hooves because they were getting closer to a couple of villages. "Some stay all year, and this is an… abnormal situation."<p>

Elliott didn't say anything as they continued, heading toward Southampton. According to Seamus, it shouldn't be too hard to catch a freightliner to New York. It would take nearly a month (with good water), but it would be world's easier to get into the states via boat than by plane. Elliott didn't even own a passport. And the satyr was almost positive that there would be a demi-god there or two to help them on their way – maybe even help them across the Atlantic for next to nothing.

"So how do you know I was claimed?" Elliott asked a while later, after they had taken a break at a small pub for lunch. "Were _you_ there?"

Seamus laughed and shoved his hands in his pockets as they made their way out of town. "No, of course not, I'm not much other than you," he answered, as if the answer should have been obvious. "But the rumors spread pretty fast – there were several naiads and dryads present and they talk _a lot_. They say your mother took you for a walk in the woods and the mark of Hephaestus appeared while you were playing. There are more rumors that the god himself appeared, to see your mother, but that has never been confirmed."

He thought about this quietly as they made their way down an empty dirt road. That seemed to be an awful lot of commotion over one demi-god, especially since by the sounds of it there were plenty all over the world. Elliott remembered what Seamus had said that morning, about how there was something else waiting at camp for him – something else that he hadn't wanted to talk about at that very moment.

This realization only made him more uncomfortable.

"Why were those things after me?" he asked quietly, having a feeling that both Lamia and the giant had something to do with whatever was in store for him when they finally reached America.

Seamus began to wring at his shirt, something he seemed to automatically do when he felt nervous. "There are a couple of reasons," he answered carefully, staring down at the ground while they walked. "Monsters can smell the blood of a demi-god. Especially in a place like this that is so empty and _clean_. You're the only demi-god within miles – there might be a couple in London, but you're the only one here. And you would make a very tasty snack." He smiled grimly.

"If I'm the only one, why would they come here?" Elliott prompted, refusing to relent. "Why not go to London?"

Now the satyr started to chew on a scrap of paper that he found in his pocket – the receipt from their lunch. "I really shouldn't—" he started. But then he glanced over at Elliott, and his expression softened. There must have been a pathetic look on his face because Seamus let out a quiet sigh, like he was about to do something he really shouldn't. "There's a prophecy, a very _important_ prophecy. It predicts the end of everything."

"What does this have to do with me?" Elliott managed. His voice sounded too quiet.

"It's yours," Seamus answered simply, apologetically. "We weren't sure before, we didn't even know where you are. But it has to be you. It's your prophecy."

All Elliott could do was make a soft sound of understanding, and then he looked away to stare at the ground. His prophecy – what did that even mean? He also didn't really like the tone in Seamus' voice, like he was sad that he had to be the messenger in this situation. And the end of everything? What was _he_ supposed to do about that? He could hardly go a single day without injuring himself, was he expected to _stop_ it?

He sure as hell hoped not.

* * *

><p>"Oh, there's something else," Seamus said later, when they were resting on a park bench sharing a basket of chips. "There's a girl."<p>

Elliott paused, mid-bite, feeling a little sicker at the G-Word than the prospect of the end of everything. "A girl?"

Seamus nodded, chewing on a bit of paper that the chips had been wrapped in. "Yeah, Winifred Harbourne. The prophecy is yours to share," he answered nonchalantly. "Ares' kid. She's been at camp for ages."

"Oh," was all Elliott said, and then he went back to his chips. He didn't want to think about girls now, let alone a girl he was connected with through a prophecy he had never heard before.

That was the last thing he needed.


	4. Chapter 4

They ran into their first spot of trouble when they reached Southampton.

The first day of walking had gone smoothly, albeit sorely. A couple of times they managed to catch rides in the back of old farm trucks, and once by a man who had hitched a cart up to an old tractor, but most of it was walking. They were only a few hours away from the harbor city when they decided to stop, but Elliott wasn't sure that he would be able to go on much further. He still hadn't slept and he felt light headed, and that wasn't even mentioning the pain in every inch of his body. So they found another little patch of woods that they could hide in, and built a small fire to keep them warm. Dinner consisted of crisps and snack cakes from a little shop, but Elliott supposed that was better than nothing.

After eating, Elliott fell asleep almost immediately. He didn't even think that he was sleeping on the ground for a second night in a row, still shivering underneath his heavy jacket and the thin blanket he brought from home. Seamus started playing on some reed pipes, Elliott recognized it as Tchaikovsky, and then he was lost in a dream.

In the dream he was standing at the peak of what seemed to be a very huge mountain. Below him, all Elliott could see were thick, dark clouds, and as he turned on the spot he saw that the land stretched out almost smoothly in front of him. In what seemed to be the middle of the entire space sat a huge, dark obelisk. There were marks on the black stone glowing faintly, although he was too far away to make out what they were. Because it was a dream and there was nothing else to do, he headed for it slowly.

It didn't take him long to reach the monument, which led him to believe that this peak wasn't that large. (How strange, were mountain peaks always this flat?) As he neared he heard bubbling, like a fountain, and the murmuring of people speaking from the other side of the obelisk. At the sound of the voices, Elliott suddenly stopped and reached for the pocketknife that he knew was going to be in his jacket pocket.

"Is it ready?" came a low, tired rasping. The voice made Elliott's skin crawl, and he fought the urge to back away.

"Nearly, father." The second voice was a young man, confident and proud. "It's a delicate thing – we can't keep it in the flame for too long. But it will be ready soon."

There was a choking noise that Elliott realized was quiet laughter. "Good," the first voice answered. "And the boy?"

Elliott stiffened, tentatively taking a step forward. But the second voice took a moment longer to respond, making quiet sounds of hesitation. "There was a small problem," he started slowly. "We found him before the satyr, but… Lamia was bested by a _nymph_." He cleared his throat. "She has been taken care of."

The talking went on, but the noise started to dull, and Elliott felt as if he was being pulled away by something. And then he blinked and—

Seamus was leaning over him smiling. "Good morning-g-g," he bleated cheerily before stepping away from him.

Elliott groaned and sat up, rubbing his eyes and reaching for his bag so that he could dig out his glasses. He remembered his dream, although everything seemed so foggy now. It had been so strange, and a little bit too _real_. "Pop the kettle on, would you?" he croaked.

"Already done," Seamus answered. "Here, eat." He tossed him breakfast pastry, one of the things they had picked up at the shop the day before.

He fumbled for the pastry and his little kettle started to whistle shrilly. As he tore into the cellophane wrap, Seamus diligently made them each a tiny tin mug of tea. Elliott wasn't sure how long he had been asleep, but the sun had barely set when he shut his eyes, and now it cresting brightly on the horizon. He devoured the pastry in seconds, and then gulped down the tea that Seamus passed to him. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he looked over to see the satyr watching him curiously. "I'm starving," was all he said, unapologetic.

They each ate a second breakfast pastry, Elliott had another cup of tea, and then they were on their way again. His body still ached from all of the walking yesterday, but he tried his best not to complain. At any rate, the walk wasn't so bad now that he had slept, and his only current worry were the grey clouds forming in the sky. He hadn't thought to grab an umbrella, or anything else to keep him dry, and he didn't feel too keen on walking down an old road in the rain. He supposed they would have to figure out an answer to that problem if it ever came up.

Less than two hours later they were walking toward a huge bridge that crossed over one of the thin channels snaking up into the land. On the other side of the bridge, and a little further than the city centre, was the harbor, where they would hopefully be able to find a way onto one of the cargo ships headed to the states. Elliott thought their chances were slim, but he tried to keep a brave face on for Seamus, who was trying so hard to seem confident in his plan.

Crossing the bridge was loud and annoying, so they didn't talk. Elliott just tried not to think about the water below them – he had never been a strong swimmer – and instead he thought about lunch. He knew that he needed to be frugal with the rest of his money, but he needed to eat something more than breakfast pastries and crisps. He made a mental note to mention this to Seamus once they had reached the other side and found a restaurant that looked good enough. At this rate, he would almost settle for fast food.

Aside from one school trip to London, Elliott had never spent much time out of the small farming village he lived in. So walking toward the urban sprawl of Southampton was a little bit overwhelming. He found himself tightening his jacket around him, suddenly feeling nervous around the crowds of people. He thought that Lamia had looked perfectly normal until it was too late. Was the same thing true with all of the other monsters? Could they hide themselves so well too?

He tried not to dwell on it as Seamus led him closer to the city centre. There were more people milling about, workers and some tourists enjoying holiday. Most of Elliott's fears were slowly forgotten as he began to smell _food_ and his stomach began to make hungry noises again. He rubbed his stomach and groaned, looking over at Seamus. "I'm hungry."

Seamus blinked at him, almost surprised. "Already?" he asked, baffled.

Elliott's stomach growled again and he frowned. "I'm growing," he huffed defensively. "Look, there's plenty of cafes, we should stop for lunch."

The satyr looked around nervously, absently toying with a small hole in his jacket sleeve. Elliott couldn't imagine he was very hungry – he had been munching on scraps of paper from his pockets all morning. But there was something else one his face that made him think the last thing that he wanted to do was stop. "I dunno," he started, his voice just as nervous. "Maybe we should get a little closer to the harbor."

Elliott let out a little, unhappy groan, but he didn't argue. If anything, Seamus knew more about the things they were running from more than he did, so he supposed all he could do was trust his judgment. So he just paused for a second to fish a package of crackers out of his backpack to nibble on while they wove through the streets. "Who are we looking for, anyway?" he asked a couple minutes later, chewing on his second cracker.

"Chiron – he's the camp director – told me that an old camper works for the Bremen Company on a cargo ship. A child of Hermes," Seamus answered, still looking around nervously. "He tried to get the word out of your arrival, but he never got a response. Hopefully we find the ship… It reeks of monsters here."

Absently, Elliott gave the air a little sniff, but he didn't smell anything strange. Everything just smelled like a city, or water. But then something else that Seamus said distracted, and he looked over at the satyr, his brow furrowed. "Wait, 'get the word out'?" he questioned, almost accusingly. "Were you coming for me anyway? Even if those things didn't show up?"

Seamus immediately diverted his attention to the ground again, wringing at his shirt. "Well, there were these rumors," he started nervously. "So Chiron sent me and a couple other satyrs to look for you before…" He stopped, clearing his throat. "The thing is, Elliott, Chiron thinks the prophecy is going to start falling into place soon."

"So the end of everything…"

"Is closer than we would like," Seamus finished quietly. "We had to come find you, the prophecy calls for _two_ heroes. If the monsters found you before you were safe, who knows what would have happened. Well… they probably would have won."

Elliott thought about this for a moment longer as he finished off the crackers, shoving the wrapper into his pocket. "What is supposed to happen? What am I supposed to stop?" he asked softly, almost wishing the words hadn't slipped out. He didn't want to know; he didn't want to know what 'the end of everything' could really mean. What could cause that? _Who_ could cause that?

Seamus let out an uncomfortable little bleat. "I can't tell you," he whined, looking at him sadly. "First of all, we don't know for sure. But mostly… Chiron wants you to hear the prophecy for yourself. He thinks hearing it with a clear mind might help you understand it better. I've probably said to much already." He brought the sleeve of his hooded jacket to his mouth and started chewing. "Don't tell him."

All Elliott could do was frown and look away. He was getting awfully tired of all of this secrecy, but it was obvious that Seamus wasn't going to say much no matter how hard he pressed him. But why not? Was it really safer that he went around not knowing anything? That seemed worlds more dangerous to him. He felt useless this way – like he couldn't help at all, he was just dead weight. Perfect.

They continued through the city centre, and soon Elliott could hear the splashing of waves and foghorns cutting through the chatter. Although he couldn't see it yet, he could imagine the harbor jutting out from the land – just like he had seen in the books at home. He couldn't help but feel the childish excitement of seeing a boat, a _huge_ boat. For a second he forgot about monsters and gods and he smiled, until Seamus reached over to touch his arm lightly.

"They're close," he said in a panicked whimper. "I can smell monsters _everywhere_. They knew we were coming."

Elliott sniffed the air again, still frowning. "Are you sure that's not just the seawater you're smelling?" he asked curiously. "Cause I don't smell a thing." He reached his hand into his pocket and pulled out a half melted chocolate bar. Without hesitating he pulled back the foil and broke off a square to nibble on.

"How can you eat?" Seamus exclaimed instead of answering, practically throwing his hands up in frustration.

"I'm _hungry_," Elliott answered loudly, shoving another square of chocolate into his mouth.

Seamus sighed. "Okay, okay, look – monsters let off a very… _distinct_ smell. They smell dark and…" He trailed off, shuddering. "I can just smell them. You have to trust me on this." He waited for Elliott to nod in agreement before he went on. "We can stop, but we have to be quick. I don't like this place."

Once more, all Elliott could do was agree a little bit helplessly. They crossed the street toward a little shop on the corner with a beaten old wooden sign hanging above the door. It took a couple minutes for Elliott to read the sign: _Mike's Chippy_. His stomach growled in anticipation and Seamus shot him a look that made him smile a little bit bashfully. "Sorry," he murmured, pocketing the remainder of the chocolate bar.

They reached the door and Elliott was about to reach for the door when Seamus reached to grab his hand. "Wait. I don't like this place," he said hurriedly.

Elliott looked up at the wooden sign above the door, waving innocently in the gentle breeze. "It's just a little shop," he insisted, pulling his arm away from the satyr. "C'mon, we'll just be a couple of minutes." He pushed the door open and a little bell in the entryway jingled. The shop was neat, the tables all wiped clean, and the floor swept. There was no one at the register, but a little bell sat beside a cup of pens, and Elliott gave it a light ring. "Hello?"

Behind him, Seamus made bleats of hesitation. "No one's here. Let's go to McDonald's," he suggested, forcing a smile. "I saw one a couple of blocks back…"

"No, hold on a minute," Elliott said glancing over at him. He leaned on the counter and gave the bell another ring. "They're probably just busy in the back. Hello?"

Elliott was about to ring the bell again, maybe a little harder this time, when there was a quiet clicking sound from behind a set of swinging doors. They were pushed open and a man peered out at them, a blank look on his face. For a second he just looked at them, his gaze lingering on Elliott for a moment too long. "What can I get you two?" he finally asked, moving to a sink to wash his hands. There was a quiet clicking as he moved that was a little bit unsettling, and made Elliot think of Lamia.

"Just one order of fish and chips," he answered quietly, all too aware of Seamus tugging on his jacket lightly. As the man set to making their lunch, the fryer sizzling, Elliott counted out his money, finding exact change. The satyr was still making quiet, nervous noises behind him. He did his best to ignore him, neatly lying out his notes and change.

A couple minutes later their food was ready, and there was more clicking as the man moved over to the counter to hand the paper cone of food to Elliott. It was a strange, rhythmic noise, that didn't seem to be coming from anywhere particular. He paid, and then bought a bottle of soda as an afterthought, leading Seamus to a table near the front window of the shop. "There is something weird about him," the satyr whispered as the shopkeeper disappeared back behind the kitchen doors.

Elliott glanced over at the doors as they swung shut, eating a couple of chips at once. "Yeah," he agreed quietly, setting their food down on the table so that he could shove a couple of napkins into his pockets and twist open his drink. Seamus picked at the fries slowly, waiting for Elliott to pass him the bottle, his eyes trained on the swinging doors.

"Let's go," he said as Elliott recapped the bottled, setting it into the pouch on his backpack.

"Alright, alright," Elliott said as he finished off a bit of fish. He put his bag back on and gathered their food before following a very anxious Seamus toward the door.

The satyr was reaching for the door handle when something long and grey careened out of the back through the little shop toward them – a blur of clicking and claws and hissing. The were pushed back from the door into one of the tables, their food flying out of Elliott's hand before either of them could think to react. When Elliott opened his eyes, he was in a tangled mess with the satyr, who had somehow been knocked out of his sneakers. His hooves wriggled helplessly in the air.

"Look out!" the satyr cried, just as the grey shape wriggled back toward them.

Elliott scrambled away from Seamus, who darted toward the other side of the shop, just as the creature crashed into another little table. For the first time he got a good look at the thing, his face blanching. It was a giant millipede-type creature, about nine feet long, its sharp feet glinting silver. It had scales and a wide, flat tail. Though the most terrifying detail was its head – a monstrous version of the shopkeeper's, covered in scales. Two huge, glinting pincers protruded from his mouth, and whiskers whipped around them quickly. He immediately regretted eating.

And then he realized he had climbed over the counter in a desperate attempt to get away.

The beast turned its head toward him as he thought to reach for his switchblade. "Idiot boy," it hissed, its feet clacking impatiently against the tile floor. Its whiskers moved irritably. "What do you think _mortal _steel would do to me?"

"Don't try!" Seamus choked, scrambling out from under the creature's tail. "It's the scolopendra – a sea monster. Mythical!" He gathered his shoes and tried to get to the door, but the thing glanced over at him and batted him back down. "You can't kill it – just get out of here!"

For a moment Elliott stood frozen, certain that he was going to die – in a _chippy_ of all places. But then he saw that the creature was making its way to Seamus, it's pincers clicking and weeping what he could only assume was something not good. "I like satyr," it hissed, sounding very pleased.

Suddenly he knew he couldn't just let that poor little satyr get eaten. This was his entire fault – if he just could have waited to eat. And the stupid goat had _warned_ him…

Glaring, he flicked the blade open and scrambled back over the counter. He might not be able to kill the thing, but he could at least distract it so that Seamus could escape. Without thinking, he began to climb up the monster's back. Every few inches he stabbed the blade under one of the thing's scales, roughly prying them off. With each jab, it growled and convulsed, attempting to turn itself to snap at him. Finally it threw him off, but Seamus had escaped as well, and Elliott grabbed the satyr's hand. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" exclaimed, tugging him toward the door.

"You're an idiot!" Seamus answered, but he was grinning gratefully as they pushed their way out the door. The bell in the entryway signaled their exit.

Elliott came to a stop and turned his attention back to the shop, but immediately turned away when the creature burst out after them. "_What_?" he cried, stumbling a bit. The few people on the street looked a little bit surprised, but seemed to pay no attention to the nine-foot long sea creature chasing after them. "Can't they see it?"

Seamus led him down a narrow alley, but soon the monster was barreling after them, knocking over rubbish bin. "The Mist – it keeps mortals from seeing—" But he was cut off as a bin knocked into them, sending them flying out of the alley and into the next street. A tiny car swerved to avoid them, nearly crashing into a street vendor. Seamus cursed in Greek and tugging him down another alley.

"Now what?" Elliott cried after him, all too aware of the monster skittering after them. He glanced over his shoulder just as it snapped at him and he let out a little yelp.

They turned down several more allies, and Elliott felt helplessly lost. He could still hear the monster behind them, hurrying after them as quickly as it could. Suddenly they had holed themselves against a brick wall and Seamus cursed again. The monster came around the corner and slowed when it saw that they were trapped. Its pincers clicked excitedly, and Elliott realized it was _laughing_.

"You should be more careful when there's a bounty on your head," it chided.

And then without another word it lunged at them, and Elliott pushed Seamus out of the way. His blade pressed into the soft flesh of the monster's underbelly just as one of its sharp pincers scraped across his neck. It shuddered violently, let out a heaving cough, and then collapsed on top of him. His head hit something hard, he felt light headed, and after a final lurch the monster disintegrated into dust.

Coughing, Elliott pushed himself up, but his dizziness only got worse. He touched his neck and looked at his fingers, nearly swooning at all of the blood. "But you said… You said my knife…"

Then he fainted.


	5. Chapter 5

For the second time in the past couple of days, Elliott woke to the sound of people murmuring around him. His entire body ached, but this was so much worse than anything he had felt before. This was worse than the winter and fell into the river and thought he was never going to be warm again; worse than walking for over twelve hours after lying awake in the woods all night. Nothing could compare to the fire in every inch of his skin just _burning_. He wanted to cry out, but for some reason his voice couldn't work.

"Does this happen often?" came a woman's voice, sounding slightly amused. Her accent was American, and Elliott thought that she sounded like one of the women from _Gone With the Wind_.

"Well, it's happened twice in three days…" came Seamus' voice. "But cut him some slack. He was _poisoned_ after all."

The woman let out a boisterous laugh, and Elliott turned his head to look at her – which took a lot more effort than he expected. He blinked and he realized he wasn't wearing his glasses, so all he could see was a blurry blonde woman in grey and white. "He wakes!" she said, noticing him, and she moved passed Seamus to crouch beside him. "Don't move too much, 'kay?" Then she tousled his hair and handed him his glasses.

"What's going on?" he groaned, pushing himself up a little further and jamming his glasses on. He got a better look at the woman – she was older than him, maybe in her mid to late twenties, and very blonde. Her hair was in curls that seemed to have a mind of their own, pulled back with a small silver clip shaped like a wing. She was dressed neatly in a pencil skirt and white blouse, although there was blood splattered haphazardly across the otherwise clean fabric. He noticed she had a badge hanging from her shirt, although he was much too far away for him to actually be able to read it.

"This is Mollie," Seamus piped up. "Daughter of Hermes."

Elliott looked from the satyr to the woman – Mollie – who was still watching him with a wide smile. "Okay…" he said slowly. He lifted his arm and winced, and he realized his jacket was strewn across the chair beside the cot he was lying in. He thought of the creature in the alley and he touched his neck. Someone had bandaged his wound. "I'm confused."

Mollie laughed again and sat down beside him, handing him a small square of something. "Eat this, it will help with your wound," she said simply. "You're lucky I found you two, or you both would have been goners."

He looked down at the small square she handed him, sniffing it tentatively. He took a little bite and realized it tasted just like the shepherd's pie that his father would make in the winter. For a moment he felt heartsick, but the food seemed to ease his pain, so he kept taking small bites from it.

"Mollie found us in the alley, she killed the scolopendra," Seamus explained.

Elliott stopped chewing and remembered stabbing his father's pocketknife into the creature's belly in one final attempt to escape. It had fallen on him, disintegrated, and in those last few minutes of consciousness he thought he had been the one to dispose of it. He felt embarrassed and finished off the rest of the square Mollie had handed him. "What is this?" he asked curiously. "It tastes like shepherd's pie."

"Ambrosia, food of the gods," Mollie answered dramatically, wiggling her fingers. "We can eat it, it helps us heal. Don't eat too much, though, you might burst into flames.

Elliott's eyes widened and he looked over at Seamus for confirmation, who simply nodded. "Oh, lovely," he said nervously. "So you're a demi-god, too?"

Mollie nodded quickly, her curls bobbing. "Went to camp for a couple of years, Chiron is an amazing trainer," she answered warmly. "Now get some rest, I've got some business to take care of. You two will be safe here." She tousled his hair once more and rose, smiling at Seamus before she slipped out of a metal door.

For the first time, Elliott took in the room they were in. It was cramped, there were two cots pushed against the wall and a small kitchen in the back. Beside him was the chair with his jacket and a small table covered in medical supplies and a half empty glass of a shimmering liquid. He looked over at Seamus, who was sitting on top of a wooden crate and chewing on a magazine. "Where _are_ we?" he asked. He had never been more confused in his life.

Seamus scuffed his hooves against the crate he was sitting on and finished the page he was chewing on. "The OOCL Bremen," he answered, sounding rather pleased with himself. When Elliott just gave him a confused look in response, he sighed. "We're on a _boat_, mate." He tore another page out of the magazine, balled it up, and popped it into his mouth.

Elliott made a quiet noise of understanding and glanced around the small cabin once more. With a little groan, he swung his feet to the ground and rubbed his head. "I feel awful," he complained. The whole boat suddenly groaned and lurched, and he grabbed his stomach suddenly.

Maybe being on a cargo ship wasn't going to be as exciting as he thought it was going to be.

"You're lucky to be alive, you know," Seamus pointed out. "Your knife didn't kill it, but it stopped the scolopendra from tearing your head off. That's when Mollie showed up – luckily she had a knife or else we would have been goners." He nodded knowingly, still chewing. "Your knife is in your jacket, nice and clean," he added helpfully.

Elliott frowned, a little annoyed that Seamus seemed so cheerful while he found it achingly painful just to move. "Wait… why did her knife work and mine can't?" he asked suddenly, scratching the back of his ear.

"It helps that hers is made of celestial bronze," Seamus answered pointedly. "It's the only metal that can harm monsters. Don't worry, we'll get you a proper weapon as soon as we can."

"Okay," Elliott said dumbly, glancing over at his jacket. He liked that knife. He wanted to keep that knife. Immediately he wondered if he would be able to make a new blade made of whatever bronze needed to kill those monsters. If he was going to face them, he didn't want to be completely useless. "So now what?" he asked a couple minutes later, looking back at the satyr.

Seamus shrugged. "We travel. It'll take nearly a month to get to the states, but Mollie can get us in without worrying about your passport. We'll figure something out about that when we get to camp," he answered nonchalantly. "I can teach you a little bit about your history, our history, I suppose," he added.

"Are we safe?" Elliott asked before he could stop himself.

At that question, Seamus got a little nervous. "We're as safe as we can be," he answered truthfully, albeit reluctantly. "There's always a chance they could find us, especially if the scolopendra knew to be looking for us. Mollie is a skilled fighter, and tricky, she'll get us there. What do you think I'm sitting on? Smuggled goods!" He spoke the last bit in a little sing-song bleat, and Elliott couldn't help but smile.

* * *

><p>As it turned out, travelling to America by boast was not as fun as Elliott had anticipated. He was constantly getting seasick, and they really couldn't come out of their tiny cabin once or twice in a day. They didn't actually have tickets, and Elliott's only identification was his library card, but Mollie always managed to pop in to pick them up to walk around with them. No one seemed to care that strange, battered passengers were walking around with her, which made him wonder what exactly she did with the Bremen Company.<p>

Elliott would have liked to say being in the open ocean was more comforting than being stuck in their cabin, but that wasn't exactly true. The fresh air was nice, and so was not being stuck below deck with Seamus, but his seasickness was almost worse in the open air. He was also unnerved by all of the water – which, stupidly, had not been something he thought about either. He wasn't a very strong swimmer, and the churning waves made him nauseous for a whole other reason. He tried to stay away from the edge.

He did enjoy spending time with Mollie, though, who was constantly telling him stories from her time at camp. Elliott had been able to do nothing but accept Seamus' words, but it was different hearing it from another demi-god. It seemed a little more real coming from a woman who looked perfectly normal, and had happened to kill a hellhound when she was ten. "So, it's always been dangerous for you?" Elliott asked one day as they walked along the deck, with ice cream cones from the kitchen.

"Yep," Mollie answered, almost proudly, licking chocolate ice cream off of her fingers. "But…" She glanced over at Elliott, smiling sadly. "That's no childhood, you know? Running away from monsters, or killing them. You're one of the lucky ones."

"Lucky?" Elliott asked incredulously, wiping his mouth on his sleeve.

Mollie nodded. "You had a family. Even just for a little bit. Not all of us get that."

Elliott had to look away from her when she said that, and he wondered how many demi-god children were forced to fight their way through their youth because of their parentage. And had it really been lucky that he had been given a family just to have them taken away so early? He hadn't even finished school yet – he wasn't allowed to live without them. He didn't feel lucky at all.

She also told him what he should expect at camp, although the more Mollie told him, the more nervous Elliott became. He was supposedly going to have to go through _battle_ training, and learn how to use different weapons. There were also pretty competitive, _weekly_, games of capture the flag, which they played in full armor. He was starting to think even if he managed to get to camp in one piece, his time there was going to be what killed him.

There were other things that he would learn, though, that were worlds more interesting than archery or chariot racing. Seamus told him that he would learn how to work in the forge, making weapons and armor for the camp. There was also a chance he would work in the stables, which pleased him more than he would let on. He had always wanted to own a horse, but after taking one lesson and breaking his leg, his parents decided maybe that wasn't a good idea.

But the idea of being in a stable was still exciting – not to mention a little comforting. It was something familiar, something not _totally_ insane like monsters and gods.

* * *

><p>Although Elliott tried to learn as much as he could about the camp (and about the prophecy, but getting information about that was hard to come by), he never once asked Seamus about his father. The curiosity was there, but he also couldn't help but feel a lot of anger. What right did the gods have to do this to them? And he was certain that if Hephaestus had never come down to his mother, she would still be alive now and everything would be <em>normal<em>. He liked normal, he missed normal.

The first time he asked about his father, he was on deck with Mollie. Seamus sat a few feet away, his legs dangling off of the edge of the ship, cheerfully playing classic rock on his reed pipes. They were about halfway there now, but it wasn't like Elliott could tell. All he could tell was they were in the middle of the ocean; for all he knew, they were helplessly lost and would never see land again.

Mollie brought out a couple of deck chairs out for them, and three steaming Styrofoam cups of hot chocolate. Elliott was bundled up in a sweatshirt and his battered tweed, a turquoise cashmere scarf wrapped around his neck. (It had been the only scarf Mollie could find for him.) It was mid-October and the air would occasionally whip around them a bit roughly, but they were sitting under a small overhang and had some relief from the wind and sea spray. And after being stuck in a little room with Seamus all day, it was always nice to be outside, no matter what the weather was like.

"Have you ever met your father?" Elliott asked Mollie quietly, in a low enough voice so he was sure that Seamus couldn't hear him.

She looked over at him, still sipping on her hot chocolate carefully. She was wearing a bright blue woolen hat and a matching set of mittens. In some mysterious girl-way that was really bizarre to Elliott, she was still wearing her signature pencil skirt and fishnet stockings – but she was bundled up in an oversized parka with fur around the hood. "No," she finally said a bit sadly. "But that's not uncommon, very few demi-gods meet their parents."

Elliott sipped on his hot chocolate, watching the water out in the distance. He thought about this, and how easily it was for the gods to abandon them. Maybe it was better not knowing them. "I don't want to meet my father," he said firmly. "I don't need him."

"Well, I wouldn't say that," Mollie answered kindly. "Just 'cause we never meet them doesn't mean they aren't watching and helping in any way they can."

"How? How has he helped me?" Elliott said, a bit louder than he had intended. "My parents were probably eaten by a giant and I can't go home. I'm stuck on a boat, in the middle of the _ocean_. How has he helped me in any way?" For the first time in a long time, he felt really angry. How could she defend them when she hadn't even met her own father?

For a second, Seamus stopped playing and glanced over at them, but Mollie waved him off. "But you are safe, aren't you?" she challenged, leaning toward him. "He knew what he was doing when he claimed you in front of all of those gossipy nymphs. He wanted you to be safe, so he gave you an army. He gave you a chance to live a little bit normally before…" She trailed off awkwardly.

Elliott couldn't help but look at her a little bit incredulously. Honestly, that seemed like a little bit of a stretch. And although the nymph had protected him from Lamia, what could they have done if something worse had come for him? He shook his head and sipped his drink. "It would have been nice to know," he answered quietly. "Some warning, _something_."

"It's against the law, Elliott," Mollie said in a sad voice. "The gods are forbidden to interfere in their children's lives. But they don't leave us totally helpless, you know."

He cast another disbelieving look in her direction, but he didn't say anything. Instead Elliott just remained silent, sipping his hot chocolate.

"It's true," she went on forcefully. "My father is the god of messengers and thieves. Do you know what that makes me?" She grinned. "_Sneaky_." At the sounded of her excitement, Elliott couldn't help but smile a little bit. "And it's the same for you too. Think of what you're good at, where do you think that gift came from? We have the blood of _gods_ in us; we are special."

Elliott was tired of people telling him that he was special, but he thought back on the few things he had found himself to be good at – working with machinery, building things from metal, even his _knowledge_ of metal was a bit unreal for someone his age. He thought of his father, Hephaestus, god of the forge, and everything made a little bit more sense. He didn't say any of this to her, though, and instead just hummed along with the song that Seamus was playing a few feet away. Minutes later, they were singing Yellow Submarine at the top of their lungs with reed pipe accompaniment, and for a while Elliott forgot his troubles.


	6. Chapter 6

Despite the trouble that they went through in Southampton, the transatlantic trip was going quite smoothly. Elliott fell into a daily habit that wasn't quite unlike the one he had at home. He would wake up with the crew of the ship, long before any of the passengers had woken. Mollie would come find him and they would eat breakfast together; if the weather wasn't too bad they would eat on the deck, but most mornings they were the first to eat in the dining room. Elliott would drink his tea and Mollie would already be on her third cup of coffee, chatting away with the servers. After an hour or so he would return to their room, where time crept by slowly until dinner, when he would come out again to eat with Mollie. Sometimes she would visit more than twice a day, but those were always surprises.

The time spent in his cabin was just as neatly organized as the rest of his day. He would read in the morning – anything he could get his hands on – and jot his ideas down before lunch. The empty notebook that he had taken from his bedroom was already nearly halfway filled. Seamus would tell him about the gods through lunch, although their conversations always managed to spin out of control by the time Mollie came to get them for dinner.

Against the odds, Elliott found himself comfortable on the ship. He thought of his mother and father every day, but he found that it was a relief to have Seamus and Mollie around – even if Seamus snored incredibly loud and Mollie was always telling him he was wrong about everything. The bottom line was, they knew what he was going through. And in their weird ways, they were trying to help him in this really strange, scary situation. So he tried not to complain too much.

At any rate, he didn't have much to complain about. Things were starting to feel normal again. He had his routine and, despite the fact it wasn't ideal, he enjoyed it.

The problem was, it never crossed Elliott's mind that something could happen to disrupt everything again, just as he had managed to grapple onto some control. Truthfully, he didn't want to think that anything bad could happen. Things were going fine now, and in a couple of days they would be safe on American soil and on their way to Camp Half-Blood. It was too easy, and any other fool would have known that something was bound to go wrong.

But Elliott had forgotten what the scolopendra had told him – he had to be careful with a bounty on his head.

* * *

><p>They were two days away from the states when trouble found them again.<p>

Elliott learned that Mollie had been offering gifts to her father and Poseidon each meal for safe passage, and the weather had been calm. The morning of the longest day Elliott would have in a long time started with her telling him, rather pleased, that they would be reaching New York safely. She told him that someone from camp would be there to pick them up, and they would make the trip north.

He had already gone through those details with Seamus – who was constantly telling him the plan to get to camp. It was simple enough; they were going to dock, and pretend like they belonged there. That was it. The Master Plan that was going to help the two of them to safety. Elliott had been skeptical at first, but (just the rest of this insane journey) he was just going to have to trust the nervous satyr. They would act like they belonged, and Mollie would shuffle them off quickly before anyone noticed them. She would sneak them passed all of the security and hail them a cab, which they would take to the nearest, _safest_, looking fast food joint to wait for their ride.

It wasn't that Elliott didn't trust either of them, but he wondered if they had thought about the consequences if their plan went wrong. What if security did catch them on their way out? Seamus had various forms of identification (although how honest they were, he didn't know), and Mollie was a legitimate citizen. He was, basically, a nameless stowaway. Mollie just told him not to be such a worrywart.

So he tried not to concern himself with the specifics, and instead reminded himself that it was just his job to be invisible. Well, he was pretty good at that.

The rest of the morning went just as normally – they finished they breakfast and took a little walk around the ship. Elliott listened to Mollie excitedly tell him about all of the cool things in New York city, occasionally stopping to poke her head into some room or office to bark orders at someone. Even the bulkiest of men were reduced to kittens around her – smiling sweetly, calling her ma'am. Elliott thought the whole process to be a little bit amusing. He still had no idea what Mollie did on the ship, but it must have been important. She brought him back to their room, where Seamus was already comfortably curled up on his cot and fiddling away with his pipes.

Elliott tried to pass the time the same way he had the past few weeks – reading, jotting down notes and ideas, and day dreaming. He learned early on in this journey that he could read Greek, and Seamus explained to him that his brain was basically hardwired for it. (He decided this must have also been why he was taking advanced Latin courses, and why reading was such a chore for him.) So Mollie found a couple of books for him to toil through – both the Iliad and the Odyssey, written in their native language. Why she had them, he would never know. But he accepted them graciously and became determined to finish both of them.

But despite the general ease he had with the language (although he did have to ask Seamus for help from time to time), Elliott found it hard to focus on anything. He felt anxious, just as he had during particularly long days of school. He didn't _want_ to sit still and read quietly, he wanted to be moving around – and _outside_. He was restless.

Needless to say, attempting to read the Iliad in Greek was not stimulating enough.

He tried to talk to Seamus, but the satyr was distracted with refitting a new pipe onto his reeds. Elliott tried everything – he tried talking about the states, Camp Half-Blood, he even tried to press him for more information about his prophecy – but he was apparently in one of his moods again. (He had noticed that Seamus seemed to miss solid land as much as he did.) For about an hour he managed to distract himself with various doodles of the satyr, bent over and cursing at his pipes. Every few seconds he would sit straight and give the instrument a little blow, but apparently the reeds didn't sound quite right to him.

Elliott's problem was when he got restless, he often did stupid things.

This was why when Seamus fell asleep for his late afternoon nap before dinner, he quietly grabbed his jacket and slipped out the door. Elliott was certain that if he stayed in that room for much longer, he was going to go a bit mad. Plus, it had never been explicitly said that they weren't allowed to leave without Mollie escorting them; perhaps they had just been acting polite. He was quiet; he could go unnoticed without the loud blonde at his side. And he would make sure to be back after an hour or so, before Seamus was sure to wake.

His first stop was the dining area, where a few passengers were milling about – reading, chatting, drinking coffee. Most of the passengers were older folk, people with plenty of money and time to spare to take a trip across the Atlantic. Elliott got himself something hot to drink (he settled on hot chocolate instead of his usual tea) and then made his way up to the deck. Most of the massive ship was covered in trailers filled with various things, stacked four to five high, but there was a path alongside them that the passengers could use to explore the ship during the day.

He made his way to the back of the ship, stopping when he was a few feet away from the railing. Elliott tugged his jacket tighter around himself and wished he had grabbed that ridiculous scarf that Mollie had given him. For a few quiet minutes he just stood there, sipping on his hot chocolate, and watching the waves splash up behind the ship. A couple crewmen walked by, smoking cigarettes and chatting quietly in a language he couldn't recognize, but they didn't glance at him twice. This only made him think that he should have gone off on his own _ages_ ago. No one would have cared.

After a while, though, standing became uncomfortable, and Elliott considered sitting down. He glanced around for a moment, his eyes lingering on the railing a few feet away from him. Feeling rather brazen, he walked to the railing and cautiously peered into the water, still clutching his hot chocolate with both hands. The water crested up behind the ship, white and foamy, and –

Elliott blinked, taking an automatic step away from the edge of the boat. For a second, he could have _sworn_ he saw something in the water below, moving along swiftly in the waves – something _huge_. And he also could have sworn that it _saw_ him.

But that couldn't have been right; it must have been a dolphin, or something. Elliott thought he read somewhere that they liked to swim alongside boats. After a hesitant sip of hot chocolate, he stepped back to the railing and looked back down into the water. The waves were empty, just as they should have been. He let out a little sigh and leaned on the rail once more, staring out into the horizon. He couldn't help but think about how far away his home was now, and how he didn't even know if he would ever see it again.

He started to feel sorry for himself again.

These thoughts were short-lived though, and totally forgotten when the entire ship gave a sudden lurch to one side. Elliott stumbled, the Styrofoam cup slipping from his hand and falling into the water below. Heart pounding in his chest, he leaned over a little bit to look into the water, wondering what could have caused that. Just as he was thinking it sounded like they had hit something, the boat gave another horrible pitch.

Now in full-blown panic mode, Elliott stumbled backwards away from the railing, wildly looking around. From where he stood he couldn't see the bridge, so it was hard to tell if anyone else was concerned by what had just happened. Frankly, he couldn't see why they _shouldn't_ worry – at the very least they were still at sea, but the ship also happened to be harboring him. And apparently things wanted to kill him.

Without a second thought, he turned on his heel and bolted back toward the bridge and cabins. He was nearly there when the boat swayed again, groaning threateningly. Elliott stumbled forward, knocking his shoulder against a metal post. Cursing, he did his best to regain his balance, but the entire ship was still swaying in the water. Clutching his shoulder, he continued to head toward the bridge. He could hear a little bit of commotion now, and a voice coming across the tinny loudspeakers giving directions to both crew and passengers.

As he got closer, he recognized the voice coming from the loudspeakers as Mollie's, and Elliott tried not to feel guilty as he made his way down a flight of stairs to the room he and Seamus had been staying in. He burst through the door and the satyr poked his head out of the bathroom, looking completely panicked. "Where have you _been_?" he cried, clopping out to him and pulling him into the room. "Mollie is _furious_."

For a moment, Elliott wasn't quite sure what to say, but then Seamus was shoving his things at him. "What are you doing?" he asked stupidly, staring down at his backpack.

"Packing!" Seamus answered a little bit angrily, glowering at him. The boat gave another sudden jolt, and the satyr tumbled backwards into one of the cots, which promptly collapsed. "What did you _do_?"

"I didn't _do_ anything! Why do you automatically assume I did something?" Elliott shouted back, trying his best not to fall over as well. He started shoving what little he did have into his bag, including the cashmere scarf. "I just went for some fresh air!"

"And you couldn't _wait_ a couple more hours?" Seamus huffed, giving his hoof an impatient little kick to free himself from the cot. "There was a reason Mollie came to get us, you know." He gave one more kick and the cot clattered against the wall.

Elliott zipped up his bag and looked over at him, his gaze a bit icy. "What do you mean?"

Seamus looked at him as if he was stupid. "Something's been _following_ us."

"_What_?" Elliott cried, going a bit pale. "And you never thought it might have been a good idea to _tell_ me this?"

Before Seamus could answer him, the door to their cabin burst open, and Mollie pushed her way in. She glanced at Elliott, and he immediately shrunk back a bit. He had never seen her angry before, but there was no denying that's exactly what she was now. He didn't like the way she looked at him so coldly, and he found that he had to look away from her while she turned away from him.

"I sent an Iris message to Chiron," she was telling Seamus, bending over to straighten the cot he had knocked over. "He's going to send in help." After clearing her throat and straightening her skirt, she turned her attention to Elliott. "You – what did you do?" She seemed to be trying very hard to keep her tone level.

All this time, the ship was beginning to steadily rock back and forth, and Elliott was finding it hard to concentrate. "I just went to get some hot chocolate," he answered helplessly. "And for a walk." He stopped suddenly and Mollie straightened, quirking an eyebrow.

"What?" she asked flatly.

Elliott hesitated, tightening his grip on his bag. "I thought I saw something in the water. I thought it looked at me," he answered quietly, diverting his gaze to the ground. He stumbled a bit as the ship lurched violently, steadying himself against the wall. When he looked back up, both Mollie and Seamus were looking at him incredulously. "Well no one _told_ me," he added defensively.

Mollie groaned, scrubbing her hand down her face. For a moment she looked as if she was going to yell at him, but instead she just let out a long sigh. "Okay, okay," she said calmly, holding her hands up. "Look, ever since we left Southampton, there's been a little… blip on our radar. We've gone unnoticed – until now." Her expression went sour for a second.

Suddenly Elliott felt incredibly stupid. He didn't know what to say, and all he could do was stand there, feeling ashamed of himself, not unlike a child that had been caught doing something he wasn't supposed to do. But why hadn't they just told him? If he had known that there was something following him, he never would have gone up to the deck. But the longer he thought about it, the more he realized he should have just known. The scolopendra had found them rather easily, there was no reason something else couldn't track them down – especially if word had gotten out that they were leaving on a cargo ship from Southampton. They were right. He had messed up really badly.

He couldn't dwell on this for very long, though, because the rocking of the ship grew more intense. Mollie let out another frustrated sigh and glanced around the room. "Okay, have all your things? Let's go." And then she turned on her heel and stomped out of the room, and all Elliott and Seamus could do was follow her.

"So what now?" Elliott asked a little bit hesitantly as they made their way down the corridor. There were a few panicked passengers about, but Mollie told them to get to their rooms unless told otherwise. He was more than a little impressed how she handled herself – constantly cool and collected. He found himself a little bit envious that she could be in so much control.

"Now we get you off this ship," she answered sharply, leading them up the stairs to the deck. The whole time, the ship was rocking violently back and forth, like something was repeatedly slamming into it. She brought them to a door they had never been in before, fumbling with a key as the boat groaned. "Chiron is sending in help, but who knows how long it will take them to get here. So we need to get you a weapon."

She finally managed to wiggle the room unlocked, and Elliot and Seamus followed her in awkwardly. Mollie flipped a switch, and Elliott realized they were standing in a room that was a lot like the one that they had been sleeping in. But there was only one cot, and at the foot of that was an old leather travelling case covered in stickers. Mollie unlatched the trunk and pulled it open, digging around in it for a few minutes. Elliott remained silent, despite the fact he wanted to ask about a hundred questions. He thought that Mollie was still pretty angry with him.

"Okay – dagger for the satyr," Mollie started absently, handing the weapon to Seamus. He looked as if he didn't want it, but he took it anyway lest Mollie turn her cool anger on him.

She went back to digging through the chest, and Elliott watched her anxiously. Was he going to be expected to _fight_ something – whatever that something was that was causing the ship to rock back and forth? He didn't want to think about it; anything that was big enough to stir a cargo ship was not something he wanted to see face to face, let alone attempt to kill. His imagination was running wildly away from him, and he almost didn't notice when Mollie tossed him a blade tucked safely in a leather scabbard. Somehow, he managed to catch it, though not before fumbling around for a few seconds.

The sword was three feet long – short, but the biggest (and heaviest) weapon Elliott had ever held before. For a second he just gave Mollie an incredulous look, but she was fitting herself with her own sword. Suddenly, something occurred to him. "Why do we need these?" he asked meekly, afraid of the answer.

Mollie looked up, finally grinning. "We're gonna' kill it, of course."


	7. Chapter 7

All Elliott could do at first was stare at her, unsure of how to react. It was like his brain refused to understand what she was telling him. How were they supposed to _kill_ it? He couldn't even imagine how big it must have been to be able to rock the ship so violently. Just the very idea of trying to kill something that huge made him want to find a little corner of the ship to hide in. He wanted to give up. A part of him realized this wasn't the best thing for him to do, but it was his automatic reaction to everything. He wasn't a fighter.

Finally he realized that both Mollie and Seamus were watching him carefully, both looking a little bit worried. Elliott blinked, noticing that he felt a little bit dizzy. "Are you gonna' pass out again?" Mollie asked, tilting her head a bit. He thought that she sounded like she might laugh.

Elliott blinked, and looked down at the sword in his hands. "No," he answered slowly. "I just have a few… concerns."

Mollie just eyed him and then bent over to pull two large bundles of cloth from underneath her cot. She unwrapped them, revealing huge bronzed shield, shoving one at Elliott. "It's a little too late to be voicing any concerns," she answered flatly, stumbling a bit as the boat shifted in the water. "It's gonna' take the whole ship down if we don't stop it, and I can't let that happen."

And then, wordlessly, she shoved passed him, and all Elliott could do was follow after her. He fumbled with the heavy shield a bit awkwardly, clanging the metal against the hallway as he tried to figure out the best way to hold it. The sword felt strange in his hand, and all he could think was how he had no idea how to wield it. Did she actually expect him to fight? He had only been told he was a demi-god a month ago – how much did they expect from him?

"So… what's the plan, then, exactly?" he forced himself to ask as they climbed the stairs, a part of him knowing he wasn't going to like the answer.

"The plan?" Mollie repeated, glancing over her shoulder at him. She paused at the top of the stairs, steadying herself against the handrail. There was something in her expression that he didn't quite trust, and once more he fought the instinct to run. And then without warning, she grabbed onto his jacket and pulled him beside her. "Don't lock your knees and keep moving," she said, yanking his jacket off and posing his arms. "I'll be right behind you!"

Before Elliott could think to react, she was shoving him out onto the deck. The rocking seemed more violent outside the safety of the cabin and he stumbled forward, barley catching himself on the railing. When he peered into the water, he could see the creature's back, banging restlessly against the side of the ship. Then for a moment it seemed to pause, the boat settling for a moment, before the animal disappeared completely underneath the water. For a moment Elliott just stood there, staring down into the water. He knew for certain that he was going to be sick; it was just a matter of when. And then, just as he thought to turn back and head toward Mollie again, there was a violent jolt, a screeching roar, and the animal was rearing its head.

Elliott might have screamed, he thought he heard a scream, but he felt frozen on the spot. The beast was larger than he had expected, huge and serpentine. Somehow it managed to pull itself up to be taller than the ship, its mouth open to reveal rows upon rows of razor sharp teeth.

He became sick immediately, dropping his sword to grip onto the railing tightly as he heaved over the side of the boat.

But he couldn't just stand there, and the creature let out another deafening screech that seemed to bring him back to some of his senses. It lunged for him and he darted out of the way, grabbing his sword before it slid off the edge of the boat and into the water as it shifted with the creature's weight.

Elliott remembered what Mollie had said – keep moving – and immediately took the advice to heart. He might have been clumsy, but somehow he managed to dart away from the animal as it continued to snap at him. Idly he thought he was grateful it didn't have arms, but at that same moment the beast hurled itself onto the deck, revealing that it did, in fact, have at least two massive flippers.

The entire ship lurched under its weight as it pulled itself further onto the ship. Containers began to tumble passed it, splashing into the water. Elliott began to lose his footing, and started stumbling toward the monster's snapping mouth. As he looked around wildly for something to grab onto, he noticed Mollie darting out onto the deck, skirting quickly around toward the back of the monster. Immediately, he realized he had just been used as _bait_, but that was the least of his concerns at the moment.

Suddenly the monster was upon him, rearing its head back before lunging toward him. Instinctively Elliott raised his shield and jabbed his sword up. He didn't think about what he was doing – he was too busy thinking to himself that he was too young to die. But his sword struck something, the monster let out an pained screech, and he glanced up to see that he had managed to stab through the roof of the thing's mouth just as its jaws had nearly snapped shut on him. Something thick and black oozed out from where he had stabbed it, and dripped down the golden blade of his sword.

Feeling more than a little bit empowered, Elliott wrenched his sword from its mouth and darted just out of its reach once more. He quickly ran around a couple of containers that had yet to fall into the ocean, running out from behind them just as the monster was knocking through them as if they weighed nothing. He hoped that Mollie was going to do whatever she planned on doing soon because he was getting awfully tired of this game.

As he steered himself back passed the door to the cabins, he glared at Seamus. "Thanks for the warning!" he cried angrily. The satyr just grinned nervously in response, ducking back behind the door as the monster snapped at Elliott. He skidded to a stop on the wet deck, trying his best not to roll into the icy water. The monster was still heading toward him awkwardly, clearly not used to scrambling around out of the water. He glanced behind it and saw Mollie – somehow balanced on the railing and sneaking up behind the monster as fast as she could.

The problem was, though, Elliott couldn't watch what she was doing _and_ keep himself from getting eating. Every time he allowed himself a little bit of a distraction to search for her on the deck, the beast would take the opportunity to snap at him. He found that his body seemed to know exactly what it needed to do, which he didn't have much spare time to think about. But somehow he knew when to raise his shield, or slash his sword upward toward the monster's mouth. Every few swings would bring a loud, satisfying clang that he felt all the way to his shoulder when his weapon crashed against the monster's teeth.

Elliott thought it would be best if he stayed closer to the containers, ducking underneath their safety whenever the monster lunged too close to him. But he soon learned that wasn't so, and the beast could just smash right through them. It continued to try to climb onto the ship after him, and for a second he wondered what the passengers and crew were doing. Mollie had also said that she called for help – but when were they supposed to get there? It felt helpless.

Another container flipped after him, and Elliott skirted out of the way just in time. He watched it splash into the water, feeling nauseous again. As he slipped across the deck, he saw Mollie scrambling up the monster, somehow going unnoticed. The creature seemed more interested in him, snapping its teeth violently in a wild attempt to devour him.

Mollie scrambled past its flippers, which were still trying desperately to find purchase on the deck. The monster reared back and he watched as Mollie raised her sword above her head, bringing it down to stab the monster in the back of its head.

But her blade struck useless against the beast's hide. There was a terrible ring as the weapon came against the scales, and then the reverberation threw Mollie's arm back – her sword slipping from her fingers and tumbling into the ocean.

Suddenly, everything happened very fast. Mollie had a look of panic on her face, like she couldn't believe her plan hadn't work and she was now standing on the back of the monster clutching nothing but a shield. But that look of panic was replaced with a _different _look of panic as the beast let out a loud screech and began jerking its head back and forth to see who actually had the gall to attempt an attack while it had been trying to eat something.

Elliott instantly realized that now Mollie was the distraction – whether she had planned that or not.

He took this has his moment and he crept around closer to the monster as it roared and thrashed, trying its damndest to throw Mollie off of its back. She clung to it the best she could, abandoning her shield in the process, her fingers scraping across the huge scales. Elliott had no idea what he was supposed to do, especially if her sword had been useless against its scales. But he had been able to stab the inside of its mouth, and the scales on its belly were significantly smaller than the ones along its back. Maybe he just had to time it right, and then he could take it down. The idea was more than a little bit daunting.

But Mollie was losing her grip and he had to do something fast. So he tried not to think about it as he ran toward the monster, doing his best to avoid its flippers as they smashed against the deck. Then suddenly Mollie was flung from the monster and she fell toward the water. Elliott was distracted long enough by her scream that he stopped moving, inches away from one of those monstrous flippers. It raised up above him and as it came down he came back to his senses, and he decided that he _wasn't_ going to be squashed and he was going to cut the damn thing off.

Elliott dropped his shield and swung his sword with all of his might, gripping the hilt with both of his hands. He kept his eyes open this time, and once more it was as if his arms knew exactly what to do. The blade sliced through at the joint, and he rolled out of the way as both the monster and its lost appendage fell onto the deck. The ship rocked violently, waves of water splashing up onto the deck. He stumbled again, but he also noticed—

"Wiring?" he murmured to himself, clambering to his feet. His gaze moved from the beast to its flipper, lying useless a couple of feet away from him. Sure enough, sticking out of where he had sliced it off was copper wiring and pipes, sparking and oozing the same black liquid that it had from its mouth. "It's a robot?" And then relief washed over him and he repeated himself, amazed at his _brilliant_ luck.

Without its second flipper, the monster – no, robot – was incredibly unbalanced. With Mollie off of its back, it returned its attention to Elliott. But it was easier to avoid it now that it was one flipper down, and he just darted his way closer. He studied it as carefully as he could while avoiding certain death, darting back and forth as he made his way to its side. As gracefully as he could (which wasn't very), he dropped his sword and grabbed onto its scales and began to climb just as Mollie had done.

It seemed confused as he scrambled his way up, reminding himself not to look down toward the violent water below. Elliott made his way toward the beast's front, tiny silver scales shedding off as he tried to keep his hold. Somehow he found his knife in his pocket, and he flicked it open to cut away at the scales. It continued to screech and thrash, but soon he had cut away an entire section of scales and there was handy piping for him to cling to.

He didn't think about how his arms were starting to ache and there was a large chance that the beast would just retreat back into the water – he just hacked away at the scales looking for _something_ useful. He had a hunch that the heart of the thing was somewhere on its chest; he could almost hear the machinery whirring away now that he was this close. Now that he knew, it almost seemed obvious that it wasn't real, and that thought gave him more courage than he normally would have. He wasn't going to run away this time.

Finally, after a few excruciating minutes of terror, he found what he was looking for. All of the delicate wiring lead toward what seemed to be a box, pressed deep into the thing's chest. Elliott pulled the wiring apart, and it began to shudder violently against him. He tore away the panel's covering to reveal a mess of blinking lights and copper and wires. Still holding on for dear life, he used his free hand to reach for the largest knot of wires. He reached it, but just barely, and as soon as he yanked it out the beast froze.

For a moment, everything was still.

And then there was the most horrible noise Elliott had ever heard – the groan and screech of metal grinding against metal. The beast started to slip toward the water, and without thinking he climbed around to its back. With the weight of it, it began to fall faster, and he scrambled up to the top of its head just as it slipped off of the deck. He took a leap of faith off of its nose, reaching for the railing.

He grabbed onto the cold, wet metal, glancing down at once to see the lifeless beast sink to the bottom of the ocean. Then hands were grasping his wrists, and he looked up to see Seamus tugging him onto the deck. Suddenly he was very aware of how weak his legs felt, and he just rolled onto his back once he was safely on the deck. It was like he couldn't catch his breath – he just lay there breathing heavily and trembling and staring up at the sky. The boat was still rocking. He still held onto his father's knife tightly.

"Elliott?" Seamus asked quietly after a moment, sounding very concerned.

Elliott didn't get up; he just tilted his head so that he could look at the satyr. "Where's Mollie?" was all he found he could say, his own voice sounding strange in his ears.

Seamus looked nervous. "I don't know," he answered hesitantly. "She fell and…" He trailed off. There was no need for him to repeat what had happened; they both saw it.

Elliott groaned and sat up, burying his face in his hands. Only then did he notice that every inch of his skin was covered in oil. He spat and used the inside of his shirt to wipe his face. "It's my fault," he lamented suddenly, unable to keep it in. "It's all my fault."

"No!" Seamus answered immediately, although he didn't speak with much conviction. He was a horrible liar.

"Yes it is!" Elliott argued, his voice rising. He climbed to his feet awkwardly, although he still found it a little bit difficult to keep himself steady. "It's my fault that thing attacked us, it's my fault she's gone."

Seamus opened his mouth as if he was going to talk, but then something distracted him and he grinned. "Oh, would you stop feeling sorry for yourself?" a familiar southern accent piped up behind him.

Immediately he turned quickly on the spot, nearly slipping in a puddle of water. Mollie stood a few feet away panting and soaking wet, but grinning. All of her curls had fallen flat, her hair sticking to her cheeks, and she had lost her shoes somewhere. Although she looked like hell, she also looked rather pleased with the world. Elliott just stared at her, baffled, his mouth opening and closing as if he couldn't find the words. "_How?_" he finally managed, the question escaping in a loud breath.

Mollie just gave him a sly little smile, tapping her finger against her nose. "I have my ways," was all she said in her singsong voice, a bit too cheerily. "C'mon, you've got a ride to catch."

She turned and headed for the cabins, and Elliott and Seamus exchanged glances before following after her. She brought them back to their room and told them to gather the rest of their things. Then she swept out the door, saying something about checking on the passengers and crew. He gaped after her, still not sure what to think about all of this. Mollie and Seamus were both acting like this was normal; but this was _mental_. How were any of them still _alive_ at this point?

But he still couldn't seem to find the words, so both of them were silent as they finished gathering their things. He didn't want to put his jacket on while he was covered in grease and oil, so he did his best to fold it up and shove it into his bag. Then he realized that was all he had, and he stood around a bit stupidly while Seamus fussed over his reeds.

Mollie was back about fifteen minutes later, wearing dry clothes and a heavy jacket. It looked as if she had taken a blow dryer to her hair rather haphazardly, and it was quickly going frizzy. Somehow, with her giant parka and knit cap, she seemed to pull it off. "Ready?" she asked excitedly, glancing between the two of them.

They hurriedly followed her up the stairs back onto the deck, and she explained that it would be safer for every one involved if they separated now. Their backup was still apparently coming, but now _they_ were their ride to the camp. Elliott idly thought that he was grateful these people seemed to be so… organized. They were all a little bit wild, at least in his limited experience, but they were all good in a pinch.

When they emerged in the chilly air on deck, Elliott realized how chilly he was in just his sweater. He was still covered in grease and he was a little bit damp from the sea spray, his hair matted down in places. Mollie fussed about him, pulling a handkerchief from one of her many pockets to clean off his face. He tried to protest but she just make a clicking sound with her tongue at him and didn't stop until the once pristine white fabric was black.

"Now you be safe," she was saying fondly, straightening his sweater. Somewhere above their heads, Elliott could hear a thick whirring sound, but there was something so final in Mollie's tone that he wasn't quite paying attention. "Remember: don't lock your knees and keep moving." She tousled his hair and pulled back from him, turning her attention to Seamus. "Don't let him get into too much trouble, okay?" she said sharply.

"Mollie what're you—" But Elliott couldn't finish because the whirring became louder and she pointed up at the sky behind him. A vaguely chariot-esque helicopter was hovering above them, a large man leaning out the side.

"Your ride," Mollie answered in her normal singsong voice. A ladder was dropped, and Seamus was the first to go up. She grabbed onto his wrist and pressed something cool into his hand. "Don't be a stranger."

There was so much he wanted to say to her, but there didn't seem to be enough time. He wanted to thank her for all that she had done for them and ask if he would ever see her again. Elliott had grown used to having her around, even if she fussed over him or yelled at him all of the time. He had started a second family, and now he was being taken away again.

But he couldn't say any of that because she was shoving him toward the ladder and he was climbing and the huge man was grinning at him. He said something along the lines of "Hey, brother," but Elliott wasn't paying attention. He was shuffled to a seat and buckled in and he thought of Mollie alone on that boat, in the middle of the ocean.

He opened his hand to see what she had given him – a thick golden coin with a face engraved into the metal. He frowned, not understanding.

Elliott decided he would ask Seamus about it later, though. It was getting dark and he wanted to sleep.


	8. Chapter 8

Flying in a helicopter-chariot-plane thing was just as uncomfortable as travelling across the Atlantic on a cargo ship. But Elliott didn't have that much time to think about it because he was suddenly aware of how _tired _he was. So he thought he would close his eyes for a little bit and he ended up falling asleep almost immediately.

When he woke up he could hear Seamus snoring and the constant whir of the blades keeping them in the air. He wondered what time it was and who was flying this thing and where they were exactly. As per usual, he found himself with more questions than answers. For a couple of seconds he wondered where Mollie was, and then he remembered that they had left her behind with no explanation. Was she going to be safe out there?

The man that had lugged him into the helicopter was sitting across from him taking up two seats, casually flipping through a comic book. The most noticeable thing about him was how huge he was – he looked like the hero from an action movie. His dark hair was perfectly disheveled, and Elliott hated that he noticed his dimples. "It's late," he said to him without even looking up from the pages. His voice was light, laid back, as if this was normal for him. Elliott supposed it probably was.

He finally looked up from his comic book, turning his gaze on Elliott. He looked at him as if he was sizing him up, taking in his haggard, dirty appearance. He seemed to approve, and he got back to his comic. "I'm Oliver," he said simply, turning the page. "I hear you're my brother."

It took Elliott a couple seconds too long to realize what this meant. "Oh! So your father…" He trailed off dumbly, feeling awkward. Seamus had told him that he had half-siblings, but sitting across from one felt a little bit strange. "I'm Elliott."

Oliver looked up at him again, his expression a little bit amused. "Yeah, I know," he answered with the faintest of smiles.

Elliott couldn't help but wonder how many people knew about him, exactly, which started to make him feel a little bit uncomfortable. He supposed more people knew about the prophecy than he thought, though he wasn't sure what to think about it. Did they really think he could help them? "Where are we?" he finally asked, the silence becoming a bit awkward.

"What? No, he woke up," Oliver said suddenly, looking away from him for a second. And then he was grinning, moving his legs off of the second chair that he was taking up. "Okay, sure." Elliott blinked, confused until he noticed that he had a tiny headphone clinging to his ear. He straightened a bit when he looked back at him, neatly shutting his comic. "Hey, follow me."

And then without another word he rose, and Elliott decided he had nothing better to do than follow him. The roof was low, and he found that he had to duck a little bit. He also had to lean against the wall when he realized he was up in the air, probably still above water. Oliver led him to the front of the craft, stopping to push open a metal door that lead into the tiny cockpit. There were two seats, one occupied by a young girl with dark hair. She hardly glanced at them, but he could tell that she was grinning.

"Hey, sit next to me," she cooed, clearly speaking to Elliott.

He glanced over at Oliver, who just gave him a little shove toward the empty seat. So he took a hesitant step forward and settled into the cushy chair. He thought about buckling himself in, but the woman wasn't wearing hers so he just gripped the armrests tightly. "Um. Hello," he started awkwardly. He immediately noticed that she was very pretty, and it was a little bit difficult for him to look at her. She didn't look like the girls from his little town at _all_. "Are you Winifred?"

The silence in the cockpit was heavy, but then both her and Oliver started to laugh. She finally stole a glance at him, her eyebrows raised critically. "No, definitely not," she answered assuredly, turning her attention back to the windshield. "You'll know when you meet her."

And then she just left it at that.

The whole place fell silent again, save the constant whir of the helicopter's blades. Elliott didn't know what to say to that, and he just stared at her a bit dumbly. Until she glanced at him again and then he immediately looked away.

"I'm Maren," she explained sweetly, tilting her head a bit.

"Oh," Elliott answered stupidly, his fingers nervously toying with the hem of his shirt. "So, uh, where are we?"

Maren shrugged, and then grinned at the look of horror on his face. "Just kidding, we'll be in New York by morning," she assured him. "Then you'll be safe in Chiron's hands, for now."

"Don't _scare_ him, Maren," Oliver chuckled. "Seamus said he faints."

Elliott frowned, feeling embarrassed. "That only happened twice," he argued awkwardly, fidgeting in his seat. "So you've heard the prophecy too, then?"

"Yes," Maren answered slowly. "But don't try to be sly, we were told not to tell you." She grinned at him again, winking.

"Of course," Elliott grumbled to himself, looking down at his hands.

"Oh now, don't pout," Maren chided softly. "Why don't you go back to sleep, you look tired and you need your rest. I just couldn't help myself – I needed a look at our little hero."

He found himself blushing again, but then Oliver was leading him back to the seats in the rear of the helicopter. He pretended to fuss of Elliott until he batted him away from him. Grinning, he grabbed his comic and hopped back to the cockpit to keep Maren company. Elliott fished the little gold coin out of his pocket and turned it over in his hands, running his fingers across the worn engraving. Seamus was still snoring beside him and he looked over at him a bit jealously.

Sighing, he pocketed the coin and shut his eyes, trying as hard as he could to find sleep.

* * *

><p>The sun was coming up when Seamus was shaking him away gently. Elliott groaned and tried to push him away, but the satyr was relentless. "Come on," he was saying in that overly cheery voice of his that he used in the morning. "We'll be landing soon, you need to get up."<p>

Elliott stretched and waved his hand in Seamus' face. "Okay, okay," he said with a sigh, rubbing his eyes and reaching around for his glasses. Sometime while he had been sleeping they had fallen off, and he found them in the empty seat beside him. He was shoving them onto his face as Maren was peering out of the cockpit at him, looking wild with exhaustion. He idly wondered if she had stayed up all night – it seemed like a good possibility.

"Ready boys?" she asked, her voice just as cheery as Seamus'. "Oliver will be bringing her down in about fifteen minutes."

"Okay," Elliott said sleepy, and then she disappeared back into the cockpit. He looked over at Seamus, who was busy checking the things in his bag. He was afraid to think it, and he most certainly wasn't going to say it out loud, but this all seemed too easy. A part of him wished for a couple more delays, but he had a feeling that wasn't going to happen. He was going to make it to camp safely because there were so many people helping him, and then he would be forced to face the future that had been supposedly planned out for him.

He still tried not thinking about the girl that shared this future with him.

Because he had nothing else to do, he decided to go through his things to take stock, just like Seamus. In his bag he still had a blanket, a couple of books and a map, his laptop, torch, and kettle set. He was wearing his only set of clothes. There were various wrappers and half eaten bags of crisps in the pockets, a handful of pens, and his mother's broken bird. In his pockets he had his house keys, the key to the tractor, more pens, and his father's knife. As he took count of each one, he thought a bit sadly that these were the only things he owned. He lamented the loss of some of his favorite books, but now there was really nothing he could do about it.

"This is your captain speaking," came Oliver's voice from the tinny loudspeakers, sounding just as cool and collected as he had the night before. "Might I suggest you buckle up, things might get a little bit bumpy."

Elliott glanced over at Seamus, who shrugged and fastened his seatbelt. Feeling nervous he followed suit, his hand finding the gold coin in his pocket. As he began to turn it over in his fingers, the little craft started to shake, and he shut his eyes tightly. There was a reason humans didn't have wings, he decided, and that was because they weren't meant to fly. The shaking grew worse, and he tried to think of _good_ things, not the entire thing going down in flames. He thought of his parents and the smell of the hayloft and the sound of the first snow crunching underneath his boots in the wintertime.

There was a loud bump, a screech, and then the motion of the helicopter seemed to level out. Elliott suddenly felt a little bit sick again, and he still found it impossible to open his eyes. Everything was still, the engine died down, and the constant whirring of the blades seemed to taper out slowly. When he opened his eyes, Seamus was unbuckling himself and Maren was pushing her way out of the cockpit.

"Everyone good?" she asked, warily eyeing Elliott's white knuckle grip on his armrests.

Before he could have much time to react, Oliver was peering out from behind Maren. "Alright," he said seriously. "Look alive, Paton, we gotta' go."

And then he was being shuffled out of the little craft, stumbling down the steps and blinking in the sudden attack of sunlight. Elliott shielded his eyes and saw that Oliver and Maren were leading him to a big white van with a company label on a side, a design with strawberries and flowers and fancy script that read _Delphi Strawberry Service_. He hesitated for a moment and Oliver walked up to the driver side window, knocking on the glass. He spoke with the driver, laughed, and then the window was closing.

"C'mon, don't be shy!" Oliver called, moving to the back of the van, he threw open the rear doors.

Elliott followed Seamus, looking around nervously and clutching his backpack tightly. When they got to the back of the van, he noticed it was full of empty crates for them to sit on. At this point, he wasn't surprised that this was how they were getting snuck into the country.

Seamus climbed in first, shuffling to the back of the van to sit comfortably on one of the over-turned crates. Elliott glanced over at Maren and Oliver, who were leaning against the open doors. "Oh, don't look so pathetic," Oliver teased, reaching forward to pinch his cheeks. "We'll see you back at camp."

Elliott frowned and brushed his hand away before clambering into the back of the van with Seamus. Maren waved at him cheerfully, and then they were slamming the doors shut. A few minutes later the driver started the engine, and then they were off. He fumbled in his bag for his torch, switching it on to cast a bit of light in the back of the van. He kept it rested between his knees. "How long until we get there?"

Seamus shrugged, fishing his reed pipes from his bag. "Two hours, I think," he answered lightly, giving the reeds a little whistle. "I've never made this drive before."

"Oh," Elliott answered simply, looking around for a place to set his torch. He wedged it into one of the boxes, nestling it snugly with his backpack. And then he slipped off his jacket, balling it up as a pillow. Within minutes, he fell into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

><p>He awoke sometime later, to the feeling of Seamus roughly shaking his shoulder. He was bleating at him to wake up, and as he slowly stirred and opened his eyes he was vaguely aware of what seemed to be natural light pouring into the back of the van. Blearily he pushed himself up, adjusting his glasses on his face. Seamus beamed at him and then clambered out of the van toward the sun.<p>

Elliott grabbed his bag and the abandoned torch and stumbled out after him, blinking in the sudden light. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust, but when they did he saw Seamus standing beside a man completely covered in bright eyes. He blinked again, pulling off his glasses to rub his eyes. He put them back on but the man was still standing there, his arms crossed over his chest and his lips pressed together in a thin line. He looked… annoyed.

He supposed he shouldn't have been too surprised at the sight of him after what he had seen up until this point.

After a brief goodbye, Seamus began to lead him up the huge hill the van had parked beside. Elliott glanced over his shoulder as the man who had driven them there climbed back into the van, slamming the door behind him and peeling down the road at a speed that had to be a little bit unsafe. When he turned his attention back to the hill, he started to become a little bit more aware of their surroundings. They were on a road in what seemed to be in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by huge pines and oak trees changing colour with the season.

At the very peak of the hill sat the biggest pine tree he had ever seen, something gold glimmering in its branches in the bright morning light. Although more curiously, a huge dragon lay curled around the pine, sleeping. It was snoring, tendrils of smoke snaking out of its nostrils. Elliott blanched and faltered, his grip on his backpack tightening. The dragon stirred as they approached, opening one eye to gaze at them sleepily.

"Thalia's Pine," Seamus offered, as if that explained everything. He glanced over at him, shrugging at Elliott's confused (and slightly fearful) expression. "Long story."

Standing a short distance away from the pine, at the start of a well-worn dirt path, was the entrance to the camp – huge Greek columns with the words _Camp Half-Blood_ carved into the marble in ancient Greek. Wordlessly, Elliott followed Seamus down the path, still clutching the straps of his backpack as if that was his only grip on reality. There were some campers milling about, all ranging in age. One looked like he couldn't have been more than eight, although there was a group of girls a few feet away with bows on their shoulders who were clearly older than him. He was distracted for a moment by the way their leather tank tops clung to them.

But none of them seemed to be paying attention to their entrance. He idly thought that maybe they were used to satyrs dragging in ragged looking half-blood orphans.

"C'mon," Seamus said, pulling his attention away from the group of girls. "Chiron wants me to give you a tour first, before…" He trailed off awkwardly, smiling at him nervously. He didn't have to finish, though, Elliott knew exactly what he was going to say: Before they heard his prophecy. The prophecy that was supposed to tell him about his future.

Yes – that could wait for now.

The satyr lead him through the camp, passing a large country style house that he promptly told him was called The Big House. It was huge, two stories, with a large wrap-around porch. There was an abandoned table, chairs pushed away. There were cards set out, the game clearly forgotten. Elliott looked away from the house as Seamus took him around the back, passed an empty volleyball court, and over a wooden bridge above a creek. He was taking him toward a ring of cabins, all of them worlds different.

There were more than a dozen cabins, all aligned in a wide oval shape. Some of them seemed to be unfinished, in the process of being built. More campers were milling about here, chatting and wandering aimlessly. He couldn't help but notice the camp still seemed empty for its size, and here more of the campers seemed to take notice in him. Self-consciously he smoothed down his hair, but he had a feeling that it didn't help much. It never did.

He took him toward the big twelve – the first cabins that had been built at the camp. During their month long trip across the Atlantic, Seamus told him a condensed version of how Percy Jackson saved the world (or something like that), and demanded that the god build cabins or the children of the lesser gods. He idly thought that he supposed if you saved the world, the gods would do anything for you.

The cabin they were headed for was the ninth cabin, the Hephaestus cabin, a towering thing made of brick. There was a large smokestack sticking out of it, and immediately he thought that it looked like an old factory. Smoke billowed out of the stack, and there was the quiet din of hammering and groaning from somewhere inside. Suddenly Elliott felt nervous. He couldn't help but think that he might not really belong here, that this was all just a huge mistake. He thought back on the tings that Seamus told him about Hephaestus, about how his half-siblings had fought bravely in the last war. So he could tinker with metal – that didn't mean he was brave like them, or able to fight, to save anyone. He tried to remember to breathe.

The entrance to the cabin looked like the entrance to a vault, and the grinning satyr gave him a helpful little shove forward. So Elliott entered the cabin first, trying to ignore the shaking in his hands and the pounding of his heart that seemed to be in his throat. Inside was a mess and it smelled faintly of smoke and everything else that he automatically found a little bit comforting. The second thing he took notice of were the stacks of papers and blueprints everywhere, piled messily on desks and bunks among scattered power tools and scraps of metal. There were a couple of students piled on a battered couch, talking amongst themselves. They stopped talking when he walked in, the girl straightening and eyeing him curiously.

"Leo isn't here," she offered, talking to Seamus – but openly staring at Elliott.

"Ah, well, you can meet him later," Seamus told Elliott with a small shrug. "Let's find you a bunk, though, and then you can see the rest of the camp." They found an empty bunk near the back of the cabin, a large metal bed, neatly made with a grey comforter. There was a trunk at the foot of the bed, and a side table holding a simple lap. A panel of buttons was built into the wall, and Elliott reached forward a bit gingerly.

"It takes you to your private room," Seamus explained, his hooves shuffling. "You need a code, Leo can help you out. He's probably at the forge."

So Elliott tucked his back neatly into the trunk, between a spare pillow and blanket. The two cabin members watched him as he followed Seamus back into the sunlight. He tried to ignore their stares, and the fact that they started whispering excitedly before he had the cabin door shut all of the way. Word of his arrival seemed to spread quickly, even among the little campers that were present, and more seemed to pay more attention as they passed. No one talked to them, though, which was just as distracting. He tried to listen to Seamus though, as he pointed out various places of importance at the camp.

They left south from the cabins, toward a huge arena in the distance. Further passed that, Elliott could make out the rolling strawberry field – the strawberry delivery van made a little bit more sense now. There were more satyrs and campers out in the fields, preparing them for the cold of winter that was quickly creeping up on them. They wove down the path, passing campers carrying swords and shields, wearing various bits of armor. They passed the arena, where he could hear a loud, deep barking. There was the sound of crashing, and the playful yelping of a puppy. He thought not to ask.

While they walked, Seamus explained that the camp was normally fairly empty from fall through spring. Most campers went home for the school year, only arriving at the camp during their summer holidays. The thought occurred to him that these were all of the demi-gods without parents; they were all lost too. He told him that he would still have to train, he would learn how to work the forge, how to create weapons and armor for the campers. A duo of campers darted by practicing swordplay, distracting him for a short moment.

"This field is where you'll do most of your training, hand-to-hand combat and all of that," Seamus was saying casually, as if all of this was _normal_. "Capture the flag is over there, in the woods." Elliott glanced toward the forest that the satyr gestured toward, and saw a couple of dryads watching him with wide-eyed curiosity. He smiled nervously at them, waved, and then they giggled – promptly dissolving back into the trees. Seamus scowled after them unhappily, a bit of obvious longing painting across his face. "Let's go to the beach. I want to show you someone," he said, his unhappiness just as apparent in his voice.

He took him across the field, through sparse clusters of campers training. The satyr casually offered helpful instructions like "Duck" and "Look out," but that didn't stop Elliott from nearly getting impaled several times. By the time they were standing at the crest of the hill above the beach, where paths of sand joined with the grass, he was feeling more than a little bit high strung. He needed sleep, he needed to be alone and away from this world for just a little bit—

"There," Seamus said, touching his arm light and pointing. "That's her."

It wasn't hard to immediately see which girl the satyr was showing him. She was the only camper on the beach not wearing any sort of armor, and was already sweating a bit in the early afternoon sun, despite the crispness in the air. She wore cut off jean shorts, her legs seemed to go on forever. Her shirt was nothing more than a tiny scrap that might have once been an oversized camp shirt, the sleeves sloppily torn off ages ago. As she moved he caught glimpse of the skin underneath the bright orange fabric, pale and bruised, and a dark coloured bra that held his attention for much too long.

And she was armed with nothing but a tall spear, its tip glinting gold in the sunlight, as she grappled with a boy who was at least twice her size and decked out in full armor, gripping a heavy iron sword tightly.

Maren had been right. Immediately, he knew who she was. Winifred.

Elliott watched, more than a little bit stunned, as she somehow disarmed her opponent, sending his sword skittering across the sand. She knocked him to the ground, the thick sole of her boot finding purchase on his chest. He stumbled and fell to his back, and in one swift motion she was kicking off his helmet violently and shoving her spear angrily at his throat. "You're too slow," she snapped at him angrily – and was she Scottish? Well, he thought that was a nice surprise.

For the briefest of seconds she looked over at him, and something about the way she held herself changed. She straightened, and eyebrow quirking, and then she was moving her foot off of the fallen camper's chest. For that second it felt like it was just the two of them, and he had the eerie feeling that she also knew who he was. Something passed between them, and understanding, or… He couldn't quite place the feeling.

Then it was like he didn't exist, and she was turning her attention to the campers around her, asking them who wanted to have a go now. Rather loudly.

"That's her," Elliott repeated nervously, watching as she lunged fearlessly at another camper. He thought her name over and over again, but he couldn't bring himself to say it no matter how much his tongue wanted to taste it now that he knew what she looked like. Not with her so close.

"Yep. Winifred Harbourne, Ares' kid," Seamus supplied cheerily, slapping him on the back. "C'mon, I want to show you the armory.


	9. Chapter 9

For the rest of the day, all Elliott could think about was the sight of Winifred on the beach, her hair wild and that _look_ on her face. Although he could see her clear as day now, all condescending eyes and long long legs, he couldn't quite get his head to form any proper descriptions. Nothing he thought seemed right. Nothing he thought gave her much justice.

He could have describe the way she looked; thin and, and… nubile. Although Elliott felt quite guilty the moment that thought crossed his mind. He could have described her hair (the reddest red he had ever seen), or the way she seemed so fearless while she trained, so ruthless. But words were failing him.

He thought of her in the armory, where Seamus showed him the types of weapons he would learn to build. Also at the stables, where he saw the Pegasi – huge and winged beasts, they weren't enough of a distraction. The only thing that pulled his attention from the wild thing for a short moment was the forge, which was practically a tangible heaven, built only for him. He touched the workbenches lightly, fondly, resisting the urge to pocket the bits of metal that were lying around.

When they returned to his cabin, Elliott was introduced to more of his half-siblings, but he found it all too surreal to really believe straight away. The day moved in a blur of faces, handshakes, and skeptical expressions. He tried not to think that even these campers, these people from the same blood as him, seemed to have so little faith in him already. He met Leo, his cabin leader, a loud and boisterous nineteen year old with a utility belt strapped around his waist. He showed him into his personal room, hidden underneath his bed. It was oddly spacious, and he took the time to unpack his backpack in his new space. He set his mother's broken bird on the worn desk.

The day seemed to go by too fast, and Elliott found it hard to focus on anything. Too much was happening; this was all much too much. Soon enough it was time for dinner, and Seamus found him while he was dozing in the stiff bed, tangled up in the fluffy comforter. Groggily he followed him outside, where the sun was beginning to set. They made their way to the pavilion, a huge space surrounded by more Greek columns and filled with picnic benches. He counted, there were just as many benches as there were cabins. One for each god or goddess. At the corner of the pavilion was a huge bonfire, crackling away brightly.

Seamus lead him through the process of offering a portion of his food to the gods, something that Elliott did a little bit begrudgingly. But then he saw the small girl sitting beside the hearth of the fire and she smiled at him, and something in his heart softened. He scraped an extra bit of barbeque into the fire. Then he took him to a table with the scattering of his half-siblings eating, explaining that meals were eaten divided by cabins. With an apologetic look, he left him their to dine at the head table.

Elliott looked around blearily, settling slowly onto the edge of the bench. The other campers hushed a bit, but none of them talked to him. He scanned the pavilion and he found her – Winifred – talking wildly with someone and waving her arms around. Her hair was tied up a little bit sloppily, but she didn't seem to notice the strands of hair hanging in her face. Occasionally she would pop a grape in her mouth, or steal something from another camper's plate, all the while grinning a little bit madly.

He found it hard to look away.

But he also realized how starving he was, and he began to also gingerly pick at his food and take in the rest of his surroundings. He reached for the goblet at his place, and it filled with a hot cup of tea at his touch. Elliott blinked, thinking that was exactly what he had wanted. Hesitantly he took a sip, and then another when he discovered that it was made perfectly. Upon further inspection, he saw there were more satyrs sitting at the head table, beside a large red-nosed man in a loud shirt, and a man that seemed to be half-horse. A centaur, right; that must have been the camp director, Chiron.

Dinner went quietly; most of his cabin mates were too content with their current conversations. Elliott was fine with this, and he ate slowly, enjoying the taste of real food. He snuck a few more glances at Winifred, but she was too engrossed in whatever was going on at the Ares table to take any notice in him. He supposed he was fine with this as well; he wasn't sure how he would react under her gaze.

At least she ignored him until Chiron stomped his hooves to quiet the campers. There were a few announcements that seemed unusually normal for a camp filled with demi-gods and mythical creatures, and then suddenly he was pointing and he said his name, and all the campers turned their attention to Elliott.

He froze under their gaze, his goblet raised to his mouth take a sip. He hadn't been paying attention to what the centaur was saying and he realized a bit belatedly that he was introducing him to the camp. There were a few quiet murmurs and his eyes darted around, finding that Winifred was staring at him with that same curious look on her face. He felt even more useless under her gaze, his mouth opening and closing stupidly. She grinned.

Chiron cleared his throat, and the attention was off of him once more. He found himself able to breath again, and Elliott turned his attention to the napkin placed neatly in his lap. He thought that Winifred might still be looking at him, but he was more than a little bit afraid to check.

Shortly later Seamus was at his side again, and Elliott noticed that the campers were starting to get up to leave. Fear started to bloom in his chest. He had a feeling he knew what was coming next.

* * *

><p>No time later, Elliott found himself inside of the Big House, sitting at a huge dining room table. Across from <em>her<em>. The grin was gone from her face now, now it was fixed into a bit of a scowl – like this was the absolute least place she wanted to be. She sat leaned back in her chair, her booted feet propped up on the table, and her arms crossed over her chest. She was doing her best to pointedly ignore him, her head turned away from him quite obviously. There was a sloppily bandaged cut on her arm. She was still bleeding, and he didn't think she noticed.

Most noticeably, Elliott realized that this close he couldn't stop staring at her freckled – and a bit sunburnt – cheeks. The skin on the very tip of her nose was peeling a bit. He couldn't help but find it a bit… endearing.

The room was silent, and more than a little bit tense. Seamus sat beside him, nervously chewing on a napkin that had been set out on the table. And then beside him was the red-nosed man from the pavilion, who Elliott had learned was the god Dionysus – apparently frightening for his temper alone. Seamus told him in hushed tones on the way over that he was living out a punishment as the director of Camp Half-Blood, and he was not the biggest fan of his job. Now he looked just as annoyed as Winifred did, and he was tapping his finger angrily on the table.

They were waiting for the oracle. They were waiting to hear the future.

Elliott was wondering what was taking so long when the door burst open, and she rushed into the room. She was a little bit flushed, her curly red hair a mess, and covered in paint. She still had a paintbrush sticking out from behind her ear. Chiron stomped in reluctantly after – also mysteriously covered in paint. His tail was flicking in frustration, and Elliott had to remind himself not to stare. He thought he saw Winifred shoot the oracle a _Look_ of sorts – a Look he immediately knew he did not want to be on the receiving end of.

"Uh… Sorry about that. Got a bit caught up… In arts and crafts," she started, wringing her hands. Dionysus cleared his throat loudly, shooting her a glare. "Right." She turned her gaze on Elliott, smiling sadly. "I'm Rachel." She started to tug a leather pouch out from under her oversized shirt. "Hi, Win," she added cheerily, but the other girl ignored her, as well.

Rachel cleared her throat and set the pouch on the table, sliding it over to Elliott before settling into an empty chair. "Elliott, you're the only one here who hasn't heard it," she went on, her voice just as sad as the look on her face. "Go ahead."

With shaking hands, Elliott reached for the pouch and tugged it open. Inside was a little slip of paper, and when he pulled it out he thought that it must have gotten torn from a notebook. It was folded over on itself several times, the creases all worn. As he unfolded it he glanced up to see that Winifred was watching him now, and her expression had gone a little bit softer. Like maybe she felt a little bit sorry for him; she understood the crushing feelings on his shoulders, and in his chest. She had to, he supposed – the weight of this was on her, as well. He looked back down at the prophecy, which was scribbled in bubbly handwriting, in pink pen. And then he read it, out loud, in a shaking voice:

"_Two heroes from the isle shall unite;_

"_War and the forge join together to fight;_

"_The fight that will bring the end of time;_

"_A weapon that will signal on the first chime;_

"_The Grandfather of all sits in his throne;_

"_Waiting to give us to what we have sown;_

"_The spring of the seventeenth year;_

"_Will bring the start of what we fear._"

He trailed off, frowning and looking up at the others around him. "That's it?"

Winifred laughed.

* * *

><p>Elliott broke curfew that night, sneaking out despite Seamus' warnings. All of the other campers in his cabin were snoring away as he crept out the door, tugging his jacket tight across himself. It was significantly colder out now, but that didn't particularly matter. He couldn't sleep; he needed some fresh air. So he made his way across the empty training field, glancing around nervously. But the entire camp seemed to be asleep, and no one noticed him as he followed the creek toward the forge nestled between the forest and the Long Island Sound.<p>

He found a gather of rocks, a sort of natural overlook beside the water and he climbed up a little bit awkwardly. He settled himself down comfortably; reaching for the golden coin in his pocket that Mollie had given him. He still hadn't had a chance to ask Seamus about it, but he found the cool metal in his hands comforting somehow.

There was no telling how long he sat there staring out at the water before he heard the scrambling of rocks, and then surprised little gasp. It caught him by surprise and he jumped, nearly tumbling off of the rock. When he turned, Elliott saw Winifred, staring at him with an angry, shocked look on her face. For a moment they just stared at each other, both completely still as if they weren't sure what to do now. Despite all of the times he had seen her today, he was all too aware that they still hadn't been properly introduced. She vanished almost immediately after the prophecy had been read.

"Hello," Elliott said experimentally, trying his best to smile. He shoved the coin back into his pocket and scooted over a little bit in a feeble attempt at an invitation.

She eyed him a bit longer, clearly thinking, and then she moved to sit beside him wordlessly. Elliott watched her, but her attention was out at the water. She sat with her knees pulled to her chest, and as far away from him as she could. He felt rather pleased with himself at this moment. Despite the strangeness going on, he felt oddly like he was a normal teenager, and there was a rather cute girl sitting right next to him.

"This is my spot," she said finally, breaking the heavy silence. Her voice was sharp, possessive, but he thought that her words lacked much venom. Then she looked at him, eyeing him seriously.

"I-I'm sorry," he stammered nervously, looking away from her. And then they were dropped into another silence again, nothing but the sound of the wind in the trees and the distant sound of the dryads singing to fill the air. "You're Scottish," he went on seconds later, toying with the collar on his jacket.

Winifred looked over at him again, an eyebrow quirked. "Yea, so?" Her voice went a bit defensive.

"It's… Nice?" Elliott said slowly, his voice picking up at the end like a question. He had never felt more stupid, and was remembering why he avoided talking to girls in school. A small part of him had hoped, though, that because they were connected through a prophecy he would at least be able to _talk_ to her.

She looked at him for a little bit longer, once more clearly thinking about something rather seriously – like she was trying to figure him out. Then the corner of her mouth quirked up into an almost-smile.

That almost-smile was enough to reassure him a little bit, though.

The silence that followed that was a little more comfortable, but Elliott found himself still wanting to talk to her. She clearly had more experience than him, and who knows how long ago she heard the prophecy. What did she make of all of this? But he was a little bit afraid to talk; he didn't want her to give him that icy Look she had given the oracle earlier in the evening.

"Elliott, right?" she said, once more her voice ringing out too clearly in the quiet night.

At first Elliott just nodded, a part of him liking the way his name sounded with her accent. "Winifred?" he said in response, feeling a bit brave.

Her expression went a bit cold for a moment, her eyes narrowing. "Win," she corrected sternly, hugging her knees a bit tighter to her chest. He noticed she was still wearing the cutoff shorts and torn shirt from earlier.

"Are you cold?" he asked, deciding to ignore the way she was looking at him. And then, without warning, he slipped out his jacket and draped it over her bare, freckled shoulders.

For a second Win looked as if she might protest, but then she tugged the jacket tighter around her small frame. "It's itchy," she complained, but he thought maybe that was her way of thanking him, somehow. After a couple more seconds, she slipped her arms through the sleeves.

Still feeling pleased with himself, Elliott watched her curiously as she began to fidget in the jacket (that seemed so big on her.) Idly he thought this was like approaching an animal in the wild – he had to do it very, very carefully. Almost absently, she began to rifle through the pockets, pulling out each item for inspection. A receipt from a chippy; his house keys, hanging off of a tiny rocket ship keychain; the lone key to the tractor, which she inspected for an awful long time; and then finally his father's switchblade – that caused her face to light up unexpectedly.

After a single, quick, cursory glance in his direction, Win flipped the blade out with a flick of her wrist. With no hesitation, she ran her thumb along the blade, hard enough to draw a bit of blood. "Nice," she said appreciatively, wiping the blade on her jeans and popping the tip of her thumb into her mouth.

All Elliott could do was stare at her, unsure of how to react. But she was smiling at him, her thumb still in her mouth, as she carefully closed the knife with her other hand. "It was my father's," he said meekly, still at a bit of a loss.

"Naturally," she said with a shrug, dropping the knife back into his jacket pocket.

More silence followed, but Elliott didn't mind in the least. He rather liked having this mad, wild thing perched beside him, snuggled up in his jacket. And it was comforting to sit there with her – finally with someone who could understand the fear that he had, tight in his chest, and the heavy weight that had been steadily dropping onto his shoulders after he found out the truth. It was a comfortable silence, a mutual silence.

He didn't know how long they sat there together, listening to the wind and watching the water on the beach. But Elliott found himself enjoying her quiet company, accented only by the occasional sniffle or scuffle of rocks. He found he was okay with not talking. This was just like the feeling of safety he got from his hayloft back home – warm and comforting. He didn't need noise.

"It gets better," she said some time later, her voice lower than Elliott had heard it in the short time that he had known her. He looked over to see that she was shrugging his jacket off of her shoulders.

"Really?" he said, just as quietly.

But Win didn't answer. She just shoved his jacket into his arms and grinned at him, before sliding off of the rock and making her way back toward the cabins. Elliott craned his head around to watch her go, and then turned his attention to his jacket. Looking back to the water, he slipped it on, and he got a whiff of the smell of her on the fabric. It smelled like strawberries and almonds, and he smiled to himself.


	10. Chapter 10

The next day, the quiet, ginger, Scottish girl he spoke with by the water had changed back into the creature that seemed to be raised in the wild.

Elliott woke up at an ungodly hour to the sound of his bunkmates moving about, talking and laughing loudly. He wasn't sure what time he had wandered back into his cabin, but it had been long after Winifred left his side. How was he supposed to sleep after _that_? All he could do was think of her – the ghostly strands of hair that whipped around her face, the slope of her shoulders as she sat hugging her legs, that crooked smile that made him think that she knew way too much…

No, there was no way he would be able to sleep.

But he at least managed to make it in before the sun started to peek on the horizon, but that wasn't saying much. While most of the campers rushed out to eat breakfast, Elliott took the quiet time to shower to wake up. He realized it had been too long since he last showered, and he was grateful to wash all of the grim from travelling off. He still had the black of the oil from the automaton sea serpent caked underneath his fingernails.

Once he was clean and dressed in fresh clothes that appeared in the trunk at the foot of the bed (jeans and a bright orange camp t-shirt), Elliott made his way toward the dining pavilion amongst the tiny throng of winter season campers. Watching them, he wondered how full the camp was in the summer time.

He got his food and gave an offering, once more smiling at the small girl at the hearth, and then found a seat at the end of the Hephaestus table with the least campers. Once more, when he touched his goblet, it filled to the brim with hot tea. He wasn't sure if he was ever going to get used to that. He ate by himself, half-listening to the conversation around him. Winifred arrived at the pavilion shortly after wearing her cutoff shorts and a huge jumper that dwarfed her. She didn't notice him.

As he was finishing up his breakfast, Elliott noticed Seamus hurrying over to him with his normal, worried expression. He tried not to be too bothered by it – the satyr seemed to be in a constant state of anxiety. "Morning," he said groggily, turning his attention back to his tea.

"You're training with Win this morning," Seamus let out in a quick breath of air, sliding into the seat across from him. Without a word, he reached for his napkin and promptly began chewing on it. "Have you picked a weapon yet?"

This caught Elliott off guard, and he found himself choking a bit on his tea. "_What_?" he said flatly, doing his best to keep his expression level. Automatically, he found himself glancing over at the Ares table, where Winifred had the large boy sitting beside her in a headlock. He seemed to be in a spot of trouble, scrambling for purchase while the other Ares campers just laughed. "No," he went on firmly, disbelievingly, looking back over at Seamus.

For a moment, the satyr just stared at him. "You don't have a choice," he scoffed, as if that was obvious. "You need to learn. She'll be your best teacher. And with the weather getting cold…" He trailed off, shrugging. "Look, the prophecy said 'the spring of the seventeenth year.' Both of you will be seventeen in not much more than a year. We're running out of time."

Elliott looked down at the remains of his toast on his plate, not wanting to think about any of this right now. It was too early, and he still hadn't quite wrapped his head around the fact that he was supposed to do something to stop this enemy. Only an idiot wouldn't believe what was right in front of his eyes, but that didn't mean it was an easy pill to swallow. "But… She'll _kill_ me," he argued meekly, looking back up at him with wide eyes.

Seamus gave him an apologetic smile. "Not too much though," he answered, in a voice that was supposed to be comforting – or something.

His eyes narrowed, and he swallowed down the rest of his tea. "Yea, thanks," he said grumpily, rising from the table. "So a weapon?"

The satyr nodded enthusiastically. "Eventually you'll create your own, but Leo wasn't available to show you around the forge until this afternoon." He grinned. "I promise you'll enjoy yourself."

But there wasn't much Elliott could do about it – he was going to have to at least _try_ to enjoy some of this if he was stuck here.

* * *

><p>He settled on a sword. It seemed like the simplest weapon for him to choose, and he already knew how one felt in his hand. That didn't mean that Elliott had much confidence, though, if any at all. He felt a bit like he was getting thrown into the lion's den as he made his way toward the practice field with Seamus at his side. The satyr kept trying to offer up suggestions, but none of them seemed like they would be much help. He didn't know what he was doing, and he was fairly certain that this day was going to end in blood. Even the thick leather armor that Seamus had helped him into did nothing to ease this thought.<p>

Winifred was waiting for him at the far end of the practice field, close to where they had met the night before. She sat cross-legged in the grass, bent over her spear. That ridiculous red hair of hers hung forward like a curtain, blocking her face from his view. She had abandoned her jumper, and had it tossed aside in a careless heap. Elliott idly wondered if it was too late to turn and run away.

Just as he was seriously considering that option, Seamus gave him a helpful shove forward. Elliott stumbled over his feet, twisting his ankle and cursing quietly to himself. Winifred looked up at the sound of his voice, raising an eyebrow at him. "Well it's about time," she said with a scowl, clambering to her feet.

Nervously, Elliott touched the hilt of his sword for a bit of reassurance and tried his best to smile. "I'm sorry, no one told me I was supposed to be here," he started awkwardly, scuffing his foot in a patch of dirt.

She just stared at him incredulously, like she couldn't believe he had the _gall_ to talk to her. After another silent moment of consideration, she jabbed her spear at his gut. "Stand up straight," she snapped, and he had to listen to her. Winifred tilted her head, her expression very still. Elliott decided that he didn't like it when she looked at him like this – all intense, big eyes. And the fact that she had a very pointy spear thrown over her shoulder did not make him feel any more comfortable.

Then she started cursing in Greek – or, rather, Elliott assumed it was cursing. She spoke low and under her breath in sharp words that he didn't have to be familiar with to know that they weren't good. He frowned at her, straightening his shoulders a bit. "What?" he asked, automatically a little bit defensively.

Winifred's gaze rose to meet his, and eyebrow quirked. "Well, I heard what happened on the OOCL Bremen," she started with a casual shrug. "With the automaton." She was still watching him with that curious look on her face, that look that he didn't quite trust.

"Oh… that was an accident," Elliott said slowly, gripping the hilt of his sword tightly. He tried to keep his shoulders straight, his voice unwavering.

"Clearly," she answered shortly, poking at him once more in the stomach with her spear.

Elliott jumped back out of habit, despite the fact the spearhead did nothing but graze harmlessly against his armor. He attempted to regain some of his dignity, but it was too late. Winifred was already watching him with her eyebrows raised, an unreadable expression on her face. He felt quite stupid, and he found himself wishing that she would just _talk_ to him instead of looking at him in ways he didn't understand.

"_I heard_," she went on, resting her spear on her shoulder once more, "that the Hero Elliott Paton–" (she managed to say this without a shred of irony, somehow) "–Son of Hephaestus, was given a sword for the first time." She began circling him slowly, eyeing him and occasionally adjusting his posture or armor.

As she continued telling him the story he already knew, her tone went a bit formal – as if she was reading a Very Important Document. "…And he took that sword and battled a serpent large enough to take down a transatlantic cargo ship. It was _surely_ an epic battle to be remembered." She kicked at his knee, forcing him to take up a different stance that seemed to please her because she went on. "He rendered the beast slightly handicap, and then proceeded to scale it and tear it apart with his _bare hands_."

She was in front of him now and their eyes met. Elliott felt that betraying heat in his cheeks surface as she watched him with a very exaggerated look of awe. So she was going to mock him now. Of course. At the sight of his blushing, she broke into a grin, and he was forced to duck away from her gaze. "I suppose you talked to Seamus," he grumbled unhappily – leave it to the satyr to embellish a little bit. He supposed the goat might have 'accidentally' left out the bit about the serpent not actually being _real_. While this could have potentially made him seem much more fearsome than he really was, he wasn't shocked to see that it had backfired. It was only natural.

Winifred nodded enthusiastically, that insane grin still on her face. "He also says you faint. Let's see if that's true."

Elliott only had enough time to mentally curse Seamus before she attacked.

* * *

><p>As it turned out, Winifred was unable to make him faint.<p>

Although he was grateful for this outcome, Elliott still sulked away from her several hours later feeling as if he had been run over by a truck. He had spent the better part of the day running away from her, feebly attempting to stave off her attacks (both physical and verbal), and reminding himself how to breathe. At one point, when the sun was high in the sky, he actually _had_ been on the urge of toppling over. He was sweating through his t-shirt, the armor felt too heavy, and a small crowd had begun to gather. He began to feel woozy and Winifred faltered, her eyes darting from his face to the giggling crowd behind him.

And then she turned on them. Screaming, she ran toward them and threatened various ways of bodily harm if they _did not go away_. It didn't take long for the crowd to disperse, mumbling unhappily amongst themselves. She turned to Elliott, her expression softening for the briefest of moments, and then she was on him again.

But he did not faint.

Elliott made sure to tell Seamus this the first moment he saw him, which happened to be seconds after he left Winifred in the clearing. The satyr looked wholly impressed, and even doubly pleased when he learned that any wounds he had procured were very minor (although several were also self-inflicted; Elliott left this detail out.) He wasn't sure if he should have been offended by Seamus' obvious surprise, but he was almost too tired to even care.

"You know she was just going easy on you…" Seamus started as they neared the Hephaestus cabin.

Elliott straightened slightly, frowning down at the satyr. He hadn't wanted to think about that. It was obviously true – today had been _much_ too easy – but he had refused to think about it. But he had seen her training that first day; she had been ruthless, and half the campers seemed to be a little bit afraid of her. He could only think that this meant training with her would get much worse before it had a chance of even getting a little bit better. They only had a year, after all.

"Yeah, whatever," was his only answer before he ducked into the cabin to change before his shift in the stables. He was looking forward to the quiet.


End file.
